Marvel 1604
by Lizewski
Summary: It's Anno Domini 1604. Under the watchful gaze of heroes and monsters, Roanoke has grown into a bustling colony and possibly a burgeoning nation...if it's not snuffed out by the King's villains. Features Spidey, X-Men, Cap, Hulk, and more.  Finished.
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters created by Marvel, or this concept created by Neil Gaiman. This story is not intended for profit.

NOTE: This is based as a sequel to the wonderful _Marvel 1602_ story by Neil Gaiman and Andy Kubert and does not follow Marvel's attempted continuations.

He drifted through the night air like a shade risen from the grave solely for this midnight hour. The deep violet of his silk cloth marked him as a Knight of the Garter and thus a man of considerable wealth and power. However, he wore it contemptuously as it only signified him as man unable to enter Parliament or leave his bright mark across the world….yet. But all that was of ill importance, for now was the hour of conspiring.

The ghoulish man entered a London tavern that was empty—at least of anyone that mattered. At this time only working drunks and the worthless artisan class would appear. The bar maid, a woman whose life experience had aged her beyond her years nodded and directed the man to a backroom. He removed his cloak as he entered. He cut a dashing figure in an emerald green suit, complete with corsage on the codpiece. The pretty peacock grimaced when he saw his audience consisted only of an intoxicated bug sitting slouched in total darkness, save for the lone flickering candle on the table.

"Master Gargan, I presume," the visitor said as he scratched his immaculate goatee.

"Sir Osborn, I don't believe I've had the pleasure," the drunkard responded with barely a mumble. Sir Nathaniel Osborn waited for his company to rise. When he did not, Osborn pulled an unsteady three-legged chair out and sat down across from the man. Osborn used his handkerchief to hide his sneer.

"It is not often that I meet someone with such influence over our Majesty," Gargan snorted. "Much less see him frequent a brewery of this….renown?"

"Are the preparations, complete?" Osborn asked, weary of conversing with the cretin longer than necessary.

"Aye, Sir Osborn. Thanks to your reputation and rapport with His Majesty—long may he reign—the London Company has received its charter several years earlier than what may have been. The Susan Constant, the Godspeed and the Discovery with a 144 souls aboard will set sail for the New World in but a fortnight."

"And what of the other ship? The _Hessian_?"

"Bah, German mercenaries hired to destroy a renegade colony alone in the wilderness. I still do not understand why that was one of James's requirements for the voyage's undertaking. We are in a business seeking to create a colony that gathers revenue and prestige for His…"

"It was my idea, Master Gargan." Osborn put his face directly above the candle in the table's center, giving off a twisted, otherworldly glow to his smile. "Call me a man ahead of his time."

"I'll call you a naïve, as we speak in privacy. Favor and total destruction go hand-in-hand around the monarchy. The Scottish king makes the Tudors look quaint when he has poor Sir Walter in the Tower for supposed treason. He'll likely die there or under the executioner's blade. What are the fortunes for a little goblin like yourself to not meet such a fate?"

"Perhaps," Osborn said with an ominous grin, "I'll meet Raleigh's fate." Osborn took the grog from Gargan's hand and consumed what was left in a slow, steady gulp. "But fortune favors the bold. Is it not bold to save the world from a colony inhabited by Witchbreed? A colony_ self-governed_ by monsters as an act of defiance to His Majesty? Like those Ancient Greeks whom Carlos Javier emulates, they will soon be lost. A lost colony and a lesson to history about rebelling against a crown."

The two men sat in silence for a moment as shadows created by the candle danced around the walls.

"So, will Herr Schmidt's ship be ready?" Osborn again pressed.

"Aye, the damned Ottomans will be crewed."

"Don't be so hard on them, Master Gargan. England has much to contend with as France and Spain all but consummate their marriage in the papal bed. These good, tr_ue Christian_ soldiers King James has retained, at little cost, will bring order to the New World."

"To order," mumbled Gargan as he looked for any remaining sips of whiskey in his bowl. Osborn rose from the table, satisfied with the night's excursion.

"One last thing Master Gargan….Don't get in Schmidt's way. He is going to kill them all."


	2. Chapter One

_Several Months Later..._

Peter Parquagh awoke from his slumber wistfully. He dreamt again of soaring above the trees. Traveling the woods freer than any man had ever known. These dreams—these memories—always make him feel at peace. He drowsily looked out the window in the small home he helped build and saw the sun was already brightly lighting the sky. _Blast_. He reached for the time piece on the desk. He had made this watch for himself out of scraps of tin from supplies Roanoke traded for with passing vessels. They may be heretics to the Spaniards, but even heretics can grow crops like potatoes, corn and the tobacco plant.

"It's almost 8 in the morning," young Peter moaned. He was supposed to have met with Governor Ananias Dare over an hour ago. It's Aunt Marian's heavy cooking, Peter grunted to himself. It always slows me down.

In less time than it takes for a thunder-lizard to clean a carcass, Parquagh was dressed and heading out the door. He dressed like most of the colonists or Americans (Peter is never sure which they should call themselves) on Roanoke. A clean, tightly worn plain white shirt with dark pants and work boots. A black or tan vest over the shirt is all that gives a man here at least some sense of style during their workdays. However, it also makes the coastal heat that much more unbearable. As he left he kissed his aunt on the cheek ignoring her query of whether he'd like something to eat.

He ran through Roanoke Island with new wonder every day. It had been two years since he saved poor Sir Nicholas Fury's life. Two years since he had given up his homeland of England and defied the crown he had once sworn to protect. They were hard years. In the Year of Our Lord Anno Domini 1604, Peter is sixteen but he feels much older. Despite his slight height and appearance, he has become one of the most trusted and sought after Americans. His predisposition to learning and studying, as well as creating, had made him a man of many trades. He designed some of the new homes made of sturdy wood and stone to withstand harsh weather, he has made trinkets and timepieces for all of his new countrymen, and today he resumes his newest duty which is to scout the topography of the lands beyond Roanoke Island of which the settlers have only a rudimentary knowledge. Indeed, his fellow citizens are starting to call him a miniature Lord Richard Reed, though Peter does not take such jesting to heart. His commission today has come from the governor, personally.

It's been hard years, but as he reached the Dare House, located at the newly designed "Main Street" (that Javier's Witchbreed had more to do with), he knows his life hasn't been complete hardship in the New World. Attending to her errands this morning was Mistress Virginia Dare. The same age as he, she wore a beautiful pale blue gown that complimented her deep sapphire eyes and silver hair in a way that made Peter stop. It was she who convinced him to stay in Roanoke, even after Sir Nicholas died saving the universe. Though they were so much younger then, only fourteen, he felt an instant connection with her. He had lived in this Dare House for over a year's quarter before his aunt arrived from the Old World. Those had been the best days of young Parquagh's life. Peter and Virginia had rarely been apart for long since. She stopped in mid stride as she carried the water's bucket to her home. She saw Peter and an easy, angelic smile lit up her face. She waved to him. Peter was about to wave back when Governor Dare stepped in front of him.

"You're late Master Parquagh." Peter swallowed all his air, hoping Ananias didn't notice the way he looks at his daughter.

"Apologies, governor." Ananias narrowed his eyes, sizing up Peter carefully.

"Madame Marian's cooking again, young sir?"

"Indeed, my lord," Peter said with a cracking grin. Ananias returned the smile.

"Carlos and I would like you to go inland, beyond the riverbeds, and sketch out new territory in detail," Governor Dare said by pointing to a poor excuse of a map that he carried.

"Is that not skirting towards Croatan lands, sir?"

"Aye, but Rojhaz's legacy is still felt. Our relations with them remain strong. We leave them in peace and we can travel through their lands, as they do ours. Breaking bread with friends, not enemies. I often wonder how things would have changed without Rojhaz's goodwill."

Peter sighed. Another trip to the Dare House and he only was able to speak to Ananias. He liked the old man like a father. Especially since his uncle never saw the New World, dying of illness on the crossing from England. The guilt of that was yet another burden young Peter would bare. Still, at the moment he'd be much rather see more of Mistress Dare than her father.

Thus with a few more pleasantries exchanged, Master Parquagh took his leave of the governor and walked out of the stone wall that surrounded the colony. It was eight feet high and solid rock, constructed by the Four of the Fantastick before they returned to their adventuring in Europe. At last though, Peter saw those tall trees he dreamed of. And with nary a soul in sight a mile out from the colony, he began to climb. To run. To jump. To be free.

Virginia Dare exited her family's home to see Peter was already gone. She smiled to herself. Finally, she shrugged knowing that she had more tasks to do for the day, such as gather wood for the nightly fire. She didn't mind though. She absolutely loved living in Roanoke. She adored this land. Give her the tall trees, the smell of gentle grass and the sound of wind moving through the leaves over the grim smoke and cobblestones of London. So many people in London. More than she could count. So many people and yet so much misery. She smiled to herself when several of the colony's younger children ran up to her. Three boys she had seen grow from infancy and one's younger sister. Her successors as the faces of the New World—the face of America.

"Tell us again, Virginia. Tell us the 'Ode of the Monster of the Wood,'" one of the three boys chirped at her.

"It's just a story, James," she replied. "I venture into that forest nearly everyday and I have never seen the said creature."

"But it's real, Mistress Dare," whined little Phillip. "My father saw him when hunting last winter. He said it was so strong it lifted an oak tree from the frosted ground as if it were a weed!" Virginia rolled her eyes and, with a sigh, began the well-known tale again.

_"There once was a man who served the King_

_A conscience and free will he had never seen_

_When the end was nigh and the world to die_

_He was touched by God, marked by the sky_

_An Abomination to know like brother Cain_

_._

_Now alone in the woods he doth wait_

_For naughty children who will go astray_

_A monster of gray skin and bear's strength_

_He will smash them like a Damned Wraith_

_Hence thou be warned of the hulk in the wood"_

The children squealed with excitement and went running off in all directions. Virginia Dare pulled her snowy hair back over her shoulders and brushed the bangs from her eyes. She had been there the day Lord David Banner had been cursed. She was in the shape of a white dog and more concerned with the Parquagh boy who was about to be blessed by the Lord as much as Banner was damned. The truth is that nobody in Roanoke knows what happened to David Banner. He disappeared never to be seen again. Except for the stories. She looked back into the house and saw that Carlos Javier and two of his other Witchbreed had already arrived to meet with her father. She had chores to do and knew she had all the time of morning to do them.

It had been a long morning for Carlos Javier. He felt a presence he had not felt in a long time, but he had to focus on the business at hand. He sat in his self-made chair of wheels by the modest table in the main room (of three) in the governor's house. They were to discuss a writ of governance.

"Carlos, I don't see why we even need one," exclaimed Dare.

"Because we need to write down on paper the powers and limitations that the governing body we're establishing shall have," Carlos repeated.

"Since Henry II, Britain had a justice system and since John we had a Parliament. They instituted all that without a formal paper explaining what a government should consist of."

"I respect what your homeland was able to do Ananias, but it is still ruled by a monarch and the English people's rights are always bound to change," Carlos said. "With this new country we're building—this America—we have the chance to perform a great experiment. The likes of which has never been seen. Right now we have the Athenians' direct democracy, but one day we will be bigger than a village. When that time comes, a real nation will exist. And we have the chance to do it unlike any before." Ananias, still very much an Englishman, nodded his head along in a way that signaled disapproval of these time wasting matters.

"The people of Roanoke are grateful for you Witchbreed and all that you've brought to our burgeoning community. You _are_ part of the community. But I just don't think with winter coming that anybody is going to care about clerical documents or lofty rhetoric."

Javier's aide/confidant/bodyguard, Scotius Summerisle looked over at Henry McCoy with annoyance as they stood in the back. This was going to be a long morning.

Peter stopped in the high wood by the brook. Though he takes the governor's orders each morning of where to sketch, he always deviates to this stream. In the mists of morning it sows peace into his soul. He looked at his topographic sketch sheets and considered how much he'd actually succeed in doing today. At that moment, he hears a branch snap and the hair on his neck stands. _Not much work at all._ He turned around to see a snow white doe staring at him.

"Good morrow, Milady Dare."


	3. Chapter Two

Virginia Dare took on her sweet angelic form once more as Peter awaited.

"I was not sure you would be able to appear this day," said Peter with a serene smile.

"My father is busy with matters in relation to leadership this morning. As long as I return with firewood, he will not notice my absence until after miday," Virginia said ruefully. She looked out at the grassy riverbed by the stream. If Roanoke was the only home she knew, then this was her paradise. She barely noticed as Peter moved in closer to her, pinning her to a tree with an arm over each shoulder.

"In that case milady, we have plenty of time to…." Peter's voice trailed as their lips were but an inch apart. "….To run." And, with a joyous laugh he flipped up to the tree trunk's top above Virginia, miraculously sticking to it by his fingertips. Her face ran the gamut from shock, disappointment and finally to humor in an instant. She looked up above herself with glee.

"The Lord may have seen fit to bless you with wondrous gifts after Rojhaz and Sir Nicholas's triumph, but I've been blessed since birth!"

"You are far too proud, milady."

"And if I am, good sir?"

"Then it cometh before the fall…once more!" Peter leaped to the next tree with the grace of a swan as Virginia literally transformed into a deer. She sprinted off into the woods on their usual route. Peter leaped after his blue-eyed doe.

.

Javier rubbed his eyes wearily as the bestial Henry rolled him into their home. It was the largest house on Roanoke by far. The Witchbreed used their special gifts that created the roads to build a two-floor home with half-a-dozen rooms on each level. In most parts of Europe, it would have been common. But in the New World, it was a chateau.

Strange, Javier thought to himself. Not only did Roanoke consist of humans and Witchbreed alike, but Europeans from many nationalities. 'Tis true that the colony has stood for nearly 20 years by the blood and virtue of English families, but our Witchbreed has added Spanish and Scottish into the brew. Even thanks to that brave from another time, Rojhaz, the Indians are treated with respect. If their kind is welcome, any should be.

Still, Javier knew they needed to write down a contract for all these new Americans to be bound by. One that protects them all and installs institutions to be governed by all men for all men.

"Do not fret so, my long and truest friend," said McCoy. "Dare is still a royal subject at heart and to save his colony he allowed us to liberate him. However, men who do not embrace God's gift of individuality shall not be the ones to beget it," he mused.

"I believe you're right, Henry."

"Of course I am correct in my observations of English gentlemen. They have observed me so acutely over my lifetime that it is merely inevitable I study them in return. You shall take it to the Roanoke citizenry. We have earned their trust so incredulously that a Scottish usurper they never knew demands no reservation of loyalty. Ergo, in mere days we shall…."

"Henry, brevity is a friend you have never known." McCoy bemusedly severed his ramble. "Besides, something more pressing is coming…tonight."

.

Peter flew through the air, shaking the leaves from his hair. Virginia Dare had doubled back toward their meeting spot after he lost her trail. He descended from branch to branch towards the forested ground, landing perfectly after a twirl through the air. He felt an exuberant taste for life he had never known growing up. Sitting by the stream and staring across to the meadow beyond was young Virginia Dare, a thousand miles away in her own head.

"My sweet lady, it seems your pride was well founded today," he said with a deep breath. She turned to face him with a radiant smile. Her disarmingly blue eyes cleansed any troubles in his soul. Virginia looked at him playfully. She then rose in mock irritation of events.

"Master Parquagh, it has been made abundantly evident that your prefer climbing tree branches over my fine company." Peter could not suppress a grin as he performed his part in this play again.

"Mistress Dare, you misunderstand me. I only wished to show you the forest lest you think me a wolf."

"A wolf as menacing as a lamb. Now, if you would excuse me Master Parquagh, I have wood to gather for the evening!" Peter clutched his chest in faux-agony at the arrows she hast slung at him. He began approaching her.

"Alas my love, you do me wrong, To cast me off discourteously…" Peter began to sing.

"Do not try to seduce me, minstrel," Virginia said lifting her head away from him.

"….For I have loved you well and long, Delighting in your company. Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight."

"My sleeves are not even that hue," she said holding out her arm draped in a blue of the sky.

"…Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my lady greensleeves." Peter took her hand and pushed her sleeve up with his other. He began to kiss her arm between lyrics, tasting the palm of her hand. "Your vows you've broken…like my heart…Oh, why do you so enrapture me?" The lady let out a soft, irrepressible moan. She gave up all attempts of pretense and the game was over.

Peter immediately moved to her face, traveling from her neck to her mouth. "There will be plenty of time for firewood," he whispered.

As he tasted her tongue in his, the world fell away from them. Peter began removing her gown from the shoulder as he laid her on sheets of grass by the brook.

Seeing her lover's body above her's in their hidden Eden filled the girl's heart with an indescribable happiness. She pulled the boy's face to her breast, wrenching her back with pleasure as he tasted of her. She lifted her head back and saw the stream flowing briskly before her, upside down. She managed an inaudible laugh. No, _this_ was her home.

As the two lovers became one on the forest's floor, a man watched them. A man, who hadn't spoken to his countrymen in years. A man, who could barely remember what the young lovers were doing, watched from a shady hill a quarter mile down the wood. His heart beat faster and faster with every sound of their ecstasy. He knew he had to leave before things became….dangerous.

.

Many miles North, members of the Powhatan Nation watched in concern, suspicion and abject wonder as four ships moved into shore. White men were aboard them. White men, who had come to their world with an ominous purpose.


	4. Chapter Three

Captain Christopher Newport looked out at the sea with a sense of longing. Part of him longed to not be in this hot, sweltering, ungodly swamp from which they were to make a fort. Though it was only April, he could feel the sweat incurred by the sun reflecting off the murky waters running down his face in every breath. He, a privateer at heart, much prefers being on the sea than on the land. However, a man of middle age and supposed prestige, the opportunity to lead the London Company's colonization of Virginia in the name of King James was humbling to his honor—as well as lucrative to his pocket. However, he knew the former was far more important at this age.

He also longed to be away from this place, so as to not carry out the task at hand. Yet that too, he knew was unavoidable. Ultimately, what he really longed for though was for that ghastly monster they call a ship (more like a floating fortress) was not in his sight. _The Hessian._ Still unloading by rowboat were nearly a hundred German mercenaries. _Murderous thugs_ who have become so good at killing to the east, the king has seen fit to bring them to the New World. Newport's command has thus been compromised before it has truly begun.

"Don't worry, Cap'n," said a voice behind. "You won't have to do it." Newport turned with weariness to the voice, his private clerk, Stephen Roberts.

"Excuse me, lad?"

"Official orders, sir. Sealed until we reached the Chesapeake." Roberts handed Newport a piece of parchment with a newly broken seal.

"You know I could have you hanged as well for opening this?"

"I don't think nobody's swinging today, sir," Stephen said with a sly grin. Newport did not respond but was beaming in his head. Roberts was a great clerk and one of the best men Newport had ever served with. He would have loved to have Roberts as first mate on the high seas twenty years ago. Alas, Roberts would never have seen such distinction then or now. For while the young man of 20 years had more heart and courage than any person Newport knew, Roberts was far too sickly and thin to ever advance as a seaman, privateer or navy. Still, Newport could not imagine a better clerk or council to have.

Newport looked down at the document and read to his secret relief that John Smith, the officer who had moments to live, was protected by the London Company as an intended architect of the fort. No doubt this stemmed from Smith's reputation as a great soldier and explorer—as well as the reach of his father, Lord Willoughby. Unfortunately, Smith's adventurous spirit lent him towards the bottle. And consequently, the bottle lent him to nearly killing four men on the Susan Constant during the crossing. He enjoyed the rest of the voyage in the brig, awaiting his execution in America. It seems Newport was given an out from carrying out the sentence.

"Shall we, Master Roberts?"

Smith stood on a tall supply barrel with the anxiety of the condemned. The strapping explorer's clothes had been reduced to wet rags from the brig and his beard was as disheveled as his mind in that moment. A tight knot formed around his neck and he breathed slowly as he closed his eyes to avoid looking at the tree he would soon dangle from.

"Good morning, sir," Newport said cheerfully as he and his man arrived to the clearing around the tree. Newport could not deny the pleasure he took from seeing the mighty John Smith tamed by his fear.

"Excuse me if I don't salute, Captain," Smith said with a small chuckle while holding up his bound hands.

"I can very easily excuse that. What I'm not sure I can excuse is your conduct. Hardly befitting an officer, much less one of the leaders of America's first hour."

"It was a long trip, sir."

"Indeed," Newport said nodding. He watched Smith's boots scrape against the barrel as he struggled to stay perfectly still. The captain was surprised at the sudden pity he felt for this man. "Fortunately, I have orders that may improve your dire situation." He waved Roberts over and held up the parchment. "I have here the explicit instructions of how to build Fort Henry. I won't bore you with many of the details. But what may peak your interest is that the London Company seems to hold your life at great value." A sly smile that could not mask a sense of relief spread across Smith's face. Newport looked at the disappointed private who was ready to watch the man air-dance. "Soldier, I hereby rescind my previous sentence….God help me. Cut this man down."

It was when Smith's salvation was in reach that an observer interrupted.

"Excuse me, Captain. I hate to intrude in how you conduct your disciplinary actions, but may I see those orders?" Every man there turned to see an immaculately dressed German privateer. He wore all black with crisp angles on the shoulders and hips. The heat seemed to bother him less than deliciously.

"And what gives you the authority to request that of me?" asked a clearly surprised Newport.

"Apologies," said the stranger. "I am Captain Johann Schmidt of the King's Special Guard."

"Herr Schmidt?" mumbled a paling Newport.

"I believe, I said captain…_sir._" He stared at Newport with patience. Finally he walked up and took the London Company's orders. "Ah yes, it is as I thought. I am afraid that under the direct commission of King James of England and Scotland that my powers supersede these." Smith's dark eyes rose to pierce a hole through Schmidt's skull. "And, I regret saying that I cannot tolerate boastful Englishmen under my command."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" cried an impotent Roberts. The tall, dark German with a statuesque, shaven jaw turned his attention for the first time towards the small man. He instantly sized Roberts as a tiny grunt and lackey or pet to the captain.

"I am Captain Schmidt. How many times must I repeat myself?" Roberts took a step towards the Hessian, but Newport stayed his clerk with a hand on his shoulder.

"You're a damned Turk," Smith yelled out with a gravelly voice. "I've killed a dozen of your bloody brethren," he said before spitting in Schmidt's direction.

"Nonsense, my lord," the German said. "I too have been knighted by Prince Bathory of Transylvania and have killed more Ottomans than I can count." Schmidt began inching towards the roped man. "You see, the Saracen race does not know when to lie down. When, like a weed, someone will not submit, you must cut them down."

"I am Lord John Smith of Willoughby and Lincolnshire…" Smith started to say. Before he could finish his evocation though, Schmidt broke the barrel with a powerful kick. Smith's neck cracked almost instantly, leaving a lifeless man rocking back and forth.

"Building a colony can be an unfortunate thing," Schmidt said as a matter of fact. He walked away without addressing Newport again. Stephen Roberts felt a bubbling sense of injustice rise from his heart. That, and a deep hatred for Johann Schmidt.


	5. Chapter Four

Peter Parquagh walked briskly with Virginia Dare towards Roanoke. They had stopped using their gifts about a half mile from home, so that Virginia could finally gather that blasted firewood.

"You should depart soon to see to your work," said Virginia.

"After you are safely in Roanoke I will travel with Godspeed to my duties," he said laughing.

"I do believe I can take care of myself, Master Parquagh. Besides what if someone should see us together?" she said with earnest concern.

"What if they do?"

"People speak idly of us."

"People with idle time and idle hands do not concern myself," the boy responded dismissively.

"Peter, we are not wed, nor even publicly courting. These are not trifle matters…." Suddenly, a carriage pulled by two horses came flying through the wood. On instinct, Peter grabbed Virginia and pulled her out of its path. They rolled atop each other in tall grass as the X-branded carriage passed.

"Did they see us?" Mistress Dare asked anxiously.

"I do not believe so, milady" Peter said in a whisper. He smiled and saw an advantage with his Lady Love lying on top of him. He began to kiss the neck of the mistress.

"_No_," she said, getting up. Sometimes, Peter could infuriate her. Despite being the kindest, most caring boy she ever knew—as well as the only boy near her age in America that she did not view as a younger brother—he could sometimes be so short sighted. She looked over to the path and saw her pile of sticks were trampled on but still usable. She picked them up and began walking towards Roanoke without missing a beat.

"Virginia!"

"I have more work to do today and unlike you, I cannot use my blessings to do so. Good day, sir." Peter stood in middle of the road confused, but somehow knowing he was the mistaken one.

.

Stephen Roberts looked out at the bay as the sun set. His compatriots were already cursing the ground they had landed upon, cutting down trees to form the fort's wall. Stephen, who had always felt awkward in England, did not mind the heat. This was a new start for him in a new land. A chance to prove himself. He took another bite out of his apple.

"They call it the Chesapeake," he said to Captain Newport. "It's supposed to have been named by John White, the original governor of the Roanoke Colony."

"It is now called Cape Henry," said the tired privateer, not looking up from his old sea table that had been carried ashore. "After the king's firstborn and Prince of Wales. As will the fort be." Stephen chewed his apple pensively.

"But this would not account for the whole bay." Newport looked up from his maps with a heavy sigh.

"James wants to erase everything related to Roanoke. You know that, yes? Schmidt executed Smith today because the king puts more stock in slaughtering that half-crazed tribe than allowing us to be profitable."

"The king is humiliated," Stephen concurred. "That's why he can hire a monster like Schmidt. Why should we care what Dare, Javier and the whole lot of 'em do? Virginia is as big as England and the continent lies before us."

"He is a superstitious Scotsman who feels threatened by the Witchbreed. Beyond that, a belligerent colony is one that discredits his authority." Newport began thinking to himself staring at the map. "Hence hiring killers with few other skills….Stephen, why did you take on this journey?"

"Because you asked me, Cap'n."

"Aye, I did. Ever since I saw you take on four bigger men in my defense outside of that pub, I have thought the world of you."

"I had my ass kicked good and proper that night," Roberts said with a laugh that didn't even convince himself.

"True…but why take clerical work on in the New World when it will be so sparse?"

"Because it's a New World. You make of it what you what you will." Newport again nodded to himself.

"Would you make yourself a scout?" Stephen perked up and finally turned from the sea to make eye contact with his captain.

"Sir?"

"We need to get a sense of our surroundings beyond this damned island. That was to be one of Smith's jobs. As it stands, only Germans, who are operating nearly separately, are going out tomorrow and I trust their ability at marking maps as much as I trust a whore. I need someone I can spare from working on the fort. I need someone I can trust."

"Sir….I would be honored."

"Good. Then get your honor fitted for armor tonight, because I'd wager it'll be bigger than needed."

.

Wanda sat by the campfire Henry McCoy was making. She felt a sense of chill in the air as dusk came. Her brother, Pietro, was hunting for food. He was exceptionally good at killing prey because he could run right up to them with a knife in hand. Next to her sat Carlos Javier, a man she has come to adore as a father.

"Are you cold, Wanda?" asked a sincerely concerned Javier.

"Does it show?"

"Well I can hear minds." He gave her a wily smile. "But in any case, wearing a nun's habit at night in the wilderness obviously causes that sensation." She gave Carlos a warm face.

"You are the one who insists that in our new realm, all religions should be as welcomed as Witchbreed and human alike."

"Yes, and I mean it. However, you originally wore that as a façade."

"'Tis true, Carlos. I'm not even sure if I'm a practicing nun without a convent or priest to confess to. But, it is all I have that connects me to my faith. It may have been a pretense for Pietro, but despite the horrors of the Inquisition and the papacy, I love what the Church should mean."

"Nor should anyone tell you different," Carlos said rolling closer to her. "But that does not mean you should freeze." He put his heavy coat, covered in the furs of a black bear, around her.

"You were the one that insisted my brother and I join Beast and yourself on this excursion. To what end must I freeze?"

"Because I told him too," said a voice from the trees. Out of the darkness came a man. A man whose face filled Wanda with dread.

It was Enrique, the former Grand Inquisitor and master of the metal.


	6. Chapter Five

It was after dark when Peter returned home. His morning procrastination led to him not getting back to Roanoke until well after 9 o'clock in the evening. He didn't mind because he considered himself a dutiful and responsible man of all his trades. The governor had hired him for a job and, as he learned from Sir Nicholas Fury, a job means you better damned well do it right. It was an unremarkable afternoon. He saw several foxes and a few deer, but nothing of concern. He could not even find a trace of the Croatan tribes that litter the inland.

His house was lit by a lone candle. When he set out to construct it a year and a half ago, he had impressed many of his fellow colonists by using a stone base to create a sound foundation and a durable floor. This allowed him to make better use of the carpenter wood he could afford. Not counting Javier's Witchbreed abode or the governor's house, Peter made the first two-room home on the island. His Aunt Miriam of course got the secluded, smaller room to rest in and Peter kept his bed in the main room. All things considered, the construct was a proud accomplishment on his part. One he has duplicated and improved on for his neighbors.

It was in the main room that he found the candle atop the table next to his sleeping aunt and his bowl of long-cooled potato soup. He tapped Miriam's hand to wake her.

"Oh, Peter?" said an elderly and plain dressed woman as she wiped the sleep from her eyes.

"I told you not to wait for me if I'm not back by dark," Peter stated in a soothing voice. He sat down and put his hand on her shoulder. She held his other hand and smiled.

"You know how I worry so. You're a man now, of sixteen, but I'm always afraid you'll still do something reckless." Peter prevented his eyes from wheeling around his head. He gave his aunt a smile that in a family says a thousand comforting words.

"Reckless, Aunt Miriam? All my life, I have been anything but. I know my place and my duty." Aunt Miriam began to rise for bed. She steadied herself with Peter's hand. After he knew she was balanced, he rose to hug the woman who was more a mother to him than the lady who birthed him.

"It's as your Uncle Benjamin used to say, with great power…"

"…comes great responsibility." Aunt Miriam kissed the side of Peter's cheek and held his gaze for a moment.

"Then you should know better, Peter. Virginia is a wonderful girl, but if you wait too long, when Ananias Dare finds out you will be unable to perform the responsibility by her that you've wanted since coming to this place." Peter was stunned speechless. She patted Peter on the shoulder before retiring. "Goodnight."

Peter sat back down at the table thinking about his aunt's words.

.

Pietro returned with several dozen carcasses over his shoulder. He has so few opportunities to run the way he used to all over Europe. Thus, he now takes what joy he can from gutting as much prey as time allows. He even likes to skin them before returning home. At this evening campfire though, his confidence was shaken when he saw his old master sitting by the flames.

"Ah, good Pietro, welcome," said an inviting Enrique. "Come sit by me." Out of a forgotten habit, Pietro did as the Grand Inquisitor said without thinking. He cursed himself in his own head.

Enrique looked over at Wanda as she wrapped herself tighter in Carlos's heavy coat. More than ever he is glad he left his children in Carlos's care. He was never a father and the fact they knew nothing of their lineage to him was proof enough of that. Carlos may be a foolish naïve for his dreams of an American state and co-habitation between humans and Witchbreed, but even Enrique would concede that his old friend was the better man. Enrique again felt a tinge of pain seeing Wanda still wearing that ridiculous nun outfit. If he could have, he'd have raised her in the ways of their people. Though he did not particularly care much for religion one way or the other, the stories he read from _The Torah _as a child still remained with him and his love for his father knew no limits. That his daughter wears the markings of those who burned him and their people shrinks the heart.

"So, Enrique, can you explain why you have summoned us here tonight?" Javier finally asked. "You vanish to the 'North' several years ago and I'd become convinced we'd never see you again."

"I was not entirely sure myself, Carlos." Enrique looked around the fire to see only Carlos listening with a sense of kinship. Wanda seemed more anxious by Enrique's presence than interested in his words. Pietro and the bestial fellow looked at him with pure contempt. Carlos had trained his children well to be just like him. "I had gone north initially to see if I could start my own colony strictly for Witchbreed by the Hudson."

"You mean near Newfoundland? You would live with the Dutch?"

"Or the French. Neither seem to have applicable claim, but the French King is in financial needs and could be separated from his claim quite easily. He also is more tolerant to our kind than the poperies to his south."

"That's because Henry IV was raised a Protestant and doesn't want to end up on a stake himself should the chance arise," chirped in McCoy.

"Whatever the reason, it is moot." Enrique knew he needed to come to his point. "The further north I went, the more I sensed a great power. One that was contained, but building. It is difficult to relate, but suffice it to say that I was drawn to it. There was a sense of metallic energy about it, but it somehow felt foreign…alien to me. I traveled as far up the continent as I could to reach it, but it always seemed out of grasp." Enrique looked around and saw he had earned the attentions of everyone around the fire. "I…commandeered a Dutch ship out of the fisheries." Carlos began to glare at his longtime rival. "Needless to say, I had to keep some of the crew, as it is only wood that floats. We traveled in a circle for a month around the Northern Atlantic. Food ran scarce—and the crew scarcer. But I knew what I searched for was in these waters."

"Did you find it?" Pietro blurted out.

"Yes. On the 39th day at sea, we stopped on a wintry ice bed. I alone crossed the frozen sheets on foot as my crew fled. I could feel it with every step on the frost until I saw something red…something brilliant, frozen in the water."

"What was it, Enrique?"

"Something powerful. Something that could carry me back to the continent within minutes…something I felt compelled for you to see when it was ready." Everyone stared at the old man with silent impatience. "It is okay, my dear. You may reveal yourself."

Out of the darkness came a blinding red and orange light. It hovered above the Witchbreed so powerfully that it consumed and snuffed the fire. It radiated a light as captivating as the sun and as ominous as red morning skies at sea. From the blinding light a figure began to emerge.

"WHAT IS IT?" screamed Wanda over the howling wind. Carlos Javier could muster but one word….

"Jean?"


	7. Chapter Six

Stephen Roberts was awake before dawn. He knew they would not leave first thing, but he needed to be ready. The battle armor the blacksmith could quickly modify was still at least two sizes too big on his body. He tried to wear the curled helmet and reflective chest plate like one of the King's best. But he looked like a boy trying to play dress up in his father's clothes. While Stephen would never let anyone see it, he felt ashamed and embarrassed by his awkward appearance. Deep down, he knew as hard as he might pretend, he will never be able to truly play soldier boy. As the sun rose, he and the other belatedly added Englishmen for this expedition walked over to the German camp. Stephen had never spent much time with Matthew Gargan, they crossed on different ships, but he always took Gargan for a slob and a fool. Here was a man of great opportunity and he lazed about in a soft body with an even softer mind. Stephen was sure that Newport spared Gargan for the same reason he was going on this trek—they were otherwise useless.

Schmidt was already up in his impeccable black attire. He was apparently drilling his hundred or so men on cleaning their muskets in a language Roberts could not understand. He turned to see the two English approach and a look of bemusement and condescension crossed his face.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he said with a curtly nod. "I see Captain Newport has chosen wisely his additions for this assignment." Stephen, against his better nature, began to say something, but was stopped before he opened his mouth. "No matter. I have three excellent specimens to carry out the simple mission." Schmidt said three names that Stephen could not understand. "Take care of our British friends on your walk around the park."

.

Though only early morning, the heat was already unbearable. Underneath layers of brown leather and metal plating, Stephen could barely see through the sweat pouring into his eyes. He now found the words to curse this God forsaken land. They trudged through vast open, tall grass that inexplicably grew out of watery mud. Why would James attempt to build his colony on this hellhole? Stephen knew it was only a few days marching distance from Roanoke, but living in a swamp cannot be a wise or healthy decision. There wasn't much talking on the mission. The Germans either spoke no English or cared not to. One would occasionally say something in his native tongue and the other two would laugh. Stephen could guess he was the butt of the joke. Gargan kept to himself, wearing a mischievous grin the whole time. Stephen fought the urge to punch him.

It was barely after midday when they reached the tree line. Though the ground was still soft and murky, the shade of their large and sky-reaching branches provided was a desperate relief. Thus far, there was little too chronicle for Captain Newport. Mud, grass and the smell of shyte does not make much for a map sketching. In the shadow of the woods, Gargan removed his helmet and took a long, deep breath. His long hair was soaked with so much sweat that he resembled a London morning. Yet, he somehow seemed to be enjoying the venture.

"What's the matter, Master Roberts?" Gargan loudly asked with a cackle. "You look as if you are about curl up and die!"

"Only if I can take you with me." Stephen tried to force his face into a grin, but he was too tired to achieve the effect. Instead, he continued to breathe heavily. One of the three Germans, in his black leather and green armor, leaned back against a tree trunk. He said something to the others. They all laughed.

"He says that after you were born, your parents must have died of shame," one of the other Germans said pointing to Stephen. It was the first time one of them spoke English and Stephen immediately missed their foreign tongues.

"You can tell your friend…" Stephen started. He cut himself off when he noticed the bastard German was convulsing on the tree back-and-forth. Then Stephen saw the small blade that was slicing his throat open.

"_Scheisse!"_ one of the Germans shouted. All four men not bleeding out in the mud raised their muskets. Gargan immediately fired in the direction of the dying body, but his killer was already gone. Gargan dropped to his knees and tried to reload his musket between bouts of sheer panic. Stephen and the Germans more wisely spread out to search for assailants. Stephen was so busy looking for monsters in every tree he didn't see the man shrouded in mud emerging from the murky floor. He came up behind one of the other Germans, the English-speaker, and smashed into his skull a small axe. The two remaining men turned around to see the dead man but not his attacker. Stephen noticed that Gargan had abandoned his musket. Did they get him too? He turned his head towards the tall grass beyond the trees and saw Gargan stripping off his armor and running as fast as he could in the direction of Fort Henry.

"Gargan, you cowardly bastard!" Stephen screamed out. "Get back here!" The other German took off after Gargan. _Damn._ Stephen dropped his empty musket and followed suit. Less than 200 yards out from the trees, Stephen noticed a dark-skinned man running alongside the German. The stranger was covered in mud and also carried a hammer-like axe. Stephen watched helplessly as the attacker swung his battle weapon into the back of the German's left knee. The Hessian screamed as he collapsed into the mud. The Indian crouched above his prey and delivered two swift blows to his face. The screaming stopped. The Indian looked at Stephen. As he approached, Stephen helplessly took off his helmet and threw it at him. It missed.

Stephen unsheathed his sword. This was going to be it. He got his chance to play hero and he is going to die in a strange land in the mud. No one will even know how he fell. Stephen then felt a tap on the shoulder. He sharply turned to see another mud-covered Indian less than a foot away from him. Stephen didn't even feel the elbow crashing into his face before the blackness.


	8. Chapter Seven

Peter awakened on time this morning. He usually reserves Saturdays for his tinkering interests, preferring the role of inventor to explorer. This usually meant he could set his own schedule, thereby making it the only day of the week where being dressed and out the door at 7 o'clock would be seen as odd. Peter's shirt was stiff and he wore his finest vest as well as only suit (it was brown). He even had on the ridiculously tall capotain hat he had inherited from Sir Nicholas Fury. He only wore it for social gatherings and to the Sunday morning church services. He was at his most fashionable and thus his most humiliated.

Roanoke was waking itself this hour. The shops and suppliers had just opened their doors and everyone was about their morning duties. Peter had the uneasy sense that all eyes were on him. Peter knew he was viewed as many things in Roanoke, but a dandy was not one of them. The lad tried to block out the thought that they were all snickering. The harder he tried, the louder the laughter grew in his head. Soon enough though, he reached his destination: the Dare House. Ananias and Virginia Dare were standing outside discussing how much more wheat needed to be grown before the autumn when they saw Peter Parquagh approaching in his Sunday best.

"Master Parquagh, I did not expect you today," Ananias said amicably, yet with something that Peter took as unease.

"Indeed?" Peter bit his lip and found his nerve. "I wish to talk to you, sir."

"Indeed….Virginia go inside and make some preparations for supper."

"Father, there is nothing to prepare at this hour."

"Aye. Go inside, anyway. Now."

.

Mistress Jean Grey slept on Javier's shoulder as the carriage made its slow return to Roanoke. There being no room in the cart, Enrique sat with Henry at the reigns. Carlos felt both joy and anxiety as he went over the events in his head again and again. Enrique had brought back from the dead the girl Javier considered a daughter. But still, she had died. He was there when she passed. He performed the last rites on her body when they buried her at sea. Scotius—o, Scotius will take this with difficulty—incinerated her body. Yet, from those ashes she has returned. Returned with seemingly no memory of her past life or anything before she fell under Enrique's tutelage for four months. _Four months!_ Javier did not know whether to cry tears of joy or sorrow at this turn of events.

.

Ananias Dare leaned against the wooden column that held up the roof of his porch (an addition that Peter designed). He looked down at young man with expectation and concern.

"So what can I do for you this fine day, Master Parquagh?" he asked. Peter took a deep breath and removed his hat.

"I've—I've come to make a great request of you, sir." Peter stood up straight and forced himself to make eye contact with the governor. The elder hid his thoughts for the moment behind a face of patience. "I realize the enormity of what I ask and the responsibility it entails, and I want you to know that I am prepared to meet that obligation with honor…I mean if you would bestow me the honor to….honor…" Peter knew his mind was going to mush.

"Peter," the governor said encouragingly. The boy regained his clarity.

"Governor Dare, I have come to ask for permission to see and to marry your daughter." The silence in the air for the next half-minute was palatable. Peter could feel his heart trying to escape his body. Slowly, but surely the visage of humor and happiness crept across Ananias's face. Then there was laughter. Peter wasn't sure if he should be relieved or start running for Newfoundland.

"Yes, Master Parquagh, yes. If my daughter will have you, then my permission is granted." The door to the house behind him swung open with a loud thud and Virginia Dare came running out to jump into Peter's arms. Peter, still disoriented by the governor's answer barely reacted quick enough to catch her and spin her around him. "So daughter Virginia, I take it that this is what you want?"

"Yes, father!" she said with the joy of a bride to be already infecting her. "I just did not know if Peter could ever have the gall to ask!" Peter didn't know whether he should feel insulted, but decided it didn't matter because he had those captivating blue eyes staring at him with all the love he ever wanted from them. She grabbed that ridiculous hat out of his hands and put it on her head.

"Aye," said Ananias. "I've known this day would come ever since you brought Peter home that one evening." The lovers were able to look away from each other long enough to show Ananias their disbelief. "I reckon the whole island has been expecting this for years!" The couple glanced at each other with a shrug before going back to pure happiness.

.

The X-engraved carriage pulled into Roanoke as the community started bustling. Jean was now awake and stared out the window hole with wonder. She wore a plain black and yellow gown that somehow made her appear more adult than Carlos recalled. But she still had the childlike wonder and affability that he remembered distinguished her personality. Jean watched the Americans with fascination and apprehension. By one of the two open markets, a young man was holding up ears of corn to the sun and examining them. He somehow looked familiar to Jean…she knew him from long ago. He turned around to place the cornstalk back in its barrel from whence it came. Jean saw the seven-foot, feathered wings on his back and experienced a jolt of recognition. _An Angel?_ She promptly opened the door and jumped out of the moving cart.

"Jean!" Javier cried. The carriage came to a screeching halt. Carlos, Wanda and Pietro piled out. Carlos looked up to the driver and saw that Enrique had already climbed down.

"Henry, get to the house and tell Scotius to come the middle of town. Hurry!"

"Professor, you seem overly concerned on this wondrous occasion."

"Go."

.

"So, what made this the day," Ananias asked Peter. Peter lifted his forehead from Virginia's.

"A wise person reminded me of one's responsibility to do what one's heart is already desires. And as my Uncle Benjamin would say, 'With Great Power Comes…'"

Jonathan Crowley, one of the original colonists and most trusted friends of the governor, came running down the road.

"Ananias, you may want to get to the center of town and quick!" Ananias looked at his old friend curiously and nodded. He ran off without a second glance. Crowley looked hesitated, dumbfounded by the sight of Peter and Virginia publicly embracing and laughing. _Huh. Finally._ He followed the governor's suit.

"Peter, do you think we should go too?" asked an absent-minded Virginia.

"I don't think we'll be needed." Peter lifted her arms around his neck. They were shrouded in pale green. "I see you're my Lady Greensleeves, today."

"I am," she said with their eyes only inches apart.

"I thought so." Their lips met passionately.

.

Ananias reached the open markets and felt his stomach sink. Javier's Witchbreed have apparently taken on another. His neighbors surrounded the magical in curiosity and worry. They lived together affably enough, but there has long been an underlying fear in the taverns that Javier would turn Roanoke into a beacon and haven for Witchbreed. It seems that fear is coming true. The arrived Witchbreed appeared to be a returning elderly man in a red cape who had been in Roanoke when Javier and the Fantastastick first arrived. The other was a young woman with long fiery red hair in a black and yellow-trimmed dress. She also looked confused and unwell.

Carlos was trying to soothe Jean's mind. But he could sense her dissatisfaction and unhappiness growing. When she first left the carriage to see Werner again, she lost immediate interest in him as she listened in to the minds around her. It was clear that she had no control or ability to drown out anyone. All the voices in the square—of the accusatory and superstitious kind—were taking a toll. Carlos could sense Jean becoming unstable. Carlos saw Scotius running down the street now and began regretting his command to Beast.

"Jean!" he enthusiastically cried towards the crowd. Before he could reach the center, where Jean was being coddled by Wanda and Enrique, Werner grabbed Scotius's arm.

"Wait," the Angel-like Witchbreed said to his sometimes-friend.

"What do you mean? It's Jean Grey returned to us by God!"

"Scotius, she's not herself." The young Scotsman brushed Werner aside after a rush of resentment and jealousy from years past came flooding back. He reached the center of the crowd and on instinct surprised Jean, hugging her body and kissing her cheek.

"Who…ARE YOU?" she shouted with terror.

"Jean…it's me…Scotius. I'm here to protect you and never let you go again." Jean's eyes flashed red.

"Let me go," she began to panic. Javier tried to enter her mind to quell the fear but there was a wall there, a wall of fire.

"LET ME GO NOW!" she screamed as fire rose up around her body and forcefully pushed Scotius away. After the scorned boy was safely away, the flames extinguished themselves, but the damage was done. Carlos heard one word, several times: _witch_. Only now, it came not from people's minds, but from their lips.


	9. Chapter Eight

Stephen's eyes took a minute to adjust. At first, he thought he was still dreaming because the world around him had a crimson color. He quickly realized the red hue was coming from the blood gushing out of his nose and sliding into his eyes. He attempted to wipe his face, but his arms would not budge. As he gained clarity, he pieced together that he was somewhere dark and his hands and legs were spread and bound to the earth. Given the stones around his body, it appeared to be a fire pit of some kind. He looked upward and saw that the top of this place was a point connected by cloth. He was in a tent. A very big tent. At least, it must be big to hold all the people standing around him with suspicious looks on their faces. He was being judged.

These were the Indians of America he had read so much about. Gentle savages looking for God. At least that is what the news periodicals said about them in England. But these were not the colorful heathens meant for the Queen's entertainment during Raleigh's time. Fear crawled its way back into Stephen's mind. He noticed a ray of sunlight from the outside world was peaking through from some unseen place. It landed on an imposing man, regal and powerful. The English captive had to raise his head as far as neck would lift to see the figure above his feet. Stephen didn't need three guesses to figure out who was in charge.

After a moment, one of the Indian men standing near this figure, caked in dried mud, started pointing at Stephen and shouting. _Well, they know I'm awake._ The king-like figure said something. Stephen was not sure if he was being addressed. He concentrated so much on what was going on that at first didn't hear the hiss. However, after the second time his eyes darted to his right to see a slight man holding a large snake above him.

"No," Stephen shouted. "No!" The strange man held the snake's fangs closer to Stephen's face. "Will you just wait? What-what, what do you want?" The snake handler looked to the king-figure. The king nodded and the snake was pushed close to Stephen's face again. "Stop. Please, stop!" The king shouted something and the man with the snake stepped back. He danced around Stephen and then disappeared from view. Then the king said _something_. Something that was clearly directed at Stephen. He looked at the chiefdom in total panic.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what you're saying." The chief repeated his indecipherable words again, this time with clear irritation. "English? I am from England and if any of you have met Englishmen or know how to speak that language…" The king stood up in clear anger. He towered over Stephen. He shouted something loud and threatening to him. "Look, I don't understand you! If you could find someone who speaks English or let me go, I can help you out!" The king said several words in a dismissive tone as he returned to the only chair in the room. From the left, harsh sunlight entered and blinded Stephen. Someone entered the tent and he was carrying a loud, heavy tool, scraping against the ground. It was a wooden club. Obviously, it was meant to bash his brains in.

"SIR, LISTEN TO ME! I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING. I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU! PLEASE, LISTEN TO ME!" The man with the club came around Stephen's body until he was standing directly above his head. The clubber looked up to the king who said something in an approving voice. The man started to lift his club. Stephen closed his eyes, preparing for a brutal and agonizing death. Suddenly, there was the loud shriek of a woman's…no, a girl's voice. Stephen opened his eyes in time to see her emerge from the crowded shadows of the tent. The only features Stephen could make out were her long flowing black hair and light brown skin complimented by her brown clothes. She ran to the king and started saying something. The Englishman could swear that she was begging for his life. A shiver of hope went up and down his body. The king listened to her patiently and then shook his head. She began yelling, imploring him to listen. He waved her off with his hand and the clubber again raised his club. Stephen tried to make eye contact with the girl. She had dark, kind eyes.

"Please," he managed in a whisper to her. In that same breath she threw herself on his body, wrapping her arms around him like a shield. She turned her head back to her father and looked at him with sad, pleading eyes. The king muttered something in his own tongue and then gave a loud decree. He waved off the club. Stephen could feel himself breathing again. The king walked over to whom Stephen knew was his daughter. He held her chin and said a single word that Stephen took for a name, _Pocahontas._ He then said several more words and the girl smiled to her parent. He offered her his hand and she climbed off the strange Englishman. Two sets of Indian men appeared on both of Stephen's sides. The king said something more and they untied him from the ground. He knew his heart would be eternally grateful to this little Pocahontas. He then saw the king point to him and then to the girl. Without being turned right side up, Stephen was swiftly carried out of the tent.

"Sir, what are you doing? I thought you were letting me go! Your Majesty…."

.

Jean stood in the back of the church. She had little comprehension of what happened. Familiar but strange faces had surrounded her. They swarmed her. At the same time, completely alien voices were in her head. Before two days ago, the only voice she knew was Master Enrique. But today there were over a hundred. And they were saying such hateful things: _Witch. Whore. Witchbreed. Hell's Concubine._ It was too much. A boy wanting to posses her, and in his head thinking such lurid and salacious thoughts, had _touched _her. What she was supposed to do? She knew she was in trouble. Even Master Enrique scolded her moments after using the abilities he's so praised. He said that 'We never attack our own kind unless we have to.'

Apparently this Scotius Sumerisle is one of her kind and should not be harmed. Jean Grey just wanted to be home in the forests with Master Enrique telling her about the world. There she was safe and didn't have to make so many decisions about how to act. There she didn't matter. She looked around the relatively well furnished living space—a pristinely kept bed, maps and a small bookcase filled with texts—knowing that in two minutes the three men discussing whether she was indeed a witch would enter. They'd decide not, but one will still suspect she's had congress with an evil spirit of and that if she uses her gifts again that they should sink her in a river.

Carlos Javier, Governor Ananias Dare and Reverend Arthur Beebe entered the room. The last one was the one who wanted to drown to her. He mind also appears to be attracted to the governor, though will never admit it aloud.

"How are we feeling Mistress Grey?" Ananias asked. She looked over at Javier. He apparently was her professor. She feels warmth and attachment to him, but she does not yet trust him the way she does Master Enrique.

"It's okay, to answer Jean," Carlos said.

"Other than a little hungry, I'm content," she replied. The three men nodded in unison.

"Mistress Grey why are you here?" said the governor.

"I am here because you brought me to your church several hours ago when I used my powers." Javier gave the other two a smug grin.

"I mean what brings you to Roanoke?"

"Master Enrique brought me here." Carlos clearly winced when she said that. "He says we are to live here for a while so that I reconnect with my kind."

"So, you mean no harm to the residents of this island?" rudely asked Reverend Beebe.

"Why would I mean anybody any harm," she responded, in a show of genuine perplexity.

.

Peter and Virginia were two of the last citizens to pile into the church for the sudden evening meeting. The two had been floating on air all day and enjoying the steady stream of congratulations they'd experienced all day. They were in no hurry for their excitement to end due to supposedly serious matters involving Witchbreed. Peter and Virginia had no problems with Javier and his brew, as they could relate to them better than most.

"Master Parquagh and Mistress Dare!" Henry McCoy shouted as they entered the building. They turned and beamed the faces of serenity only young lovers could have. "Are the stories true that you two are to be wed?"

"'Tis true, I'm afraid," Peter said. "I hope you can take this news with acceptance and dignity." Henry erupted in a boisterous laugh. He worked his way over to them and clasped their hands in his giant mitts.

"My sincerest congratulations to you both," he said.

"Thank you, Henry," Virginia said. "We're basking in this momentarily, but when the wedding day comes, it'd mean so much to us if you and all your school were there." Henry was taken aback. He always enjoyed exchanging pleasantries with these two, but he never realized what good people they truly were.

"I'd….be honored, my lady," Henry choked out with a bow. "If the gossips of Europe were true," he said directly to Virginia. "And you're the young face of the New World, then what a miraculous world it will be." He kissed her hand and saw the lady was blushing. "Now, if you will excuse me, I believe we should find seats before the pews completely fill up."

.

Jean Grey and the three men filed into the front of the church a quarter past 8 o'clock. The look on Beebe's face was dour.

"After examining the girl carefully," the Reverend paused. "We have decided that Mistress Jean Grey of Carlos Javier's Select College for the Sons of Gentlefolk is not a witch, but merely another lost child of the _Witchbreed_." Beebe struggled to say the last word without contempt. Despite his best effort to appear fair, his flock began heckling.

"If she's not a witch, how can she control fire?" shouted one of the faceless townsfolk.

"The flames come from the Devil! She could destroy us all!" yelled another. Jean looked into the crowd and saw the Javier students slumped in the first pew. The Scotius boy was holding back tears and would not look up at her. The other three—the Henry-Beast, the Angel and the boy who can control ice—looked ashamed and humiliated by the scene. Jean wished Master Enrique was here, but he says he has an aversion for churches and organized religion.

"If she's not a witch, make her swear on a Bible!"

"Can we make _them all_ swear on the Bible?" shouted yet another. Carlos Javier had had enough.

"People, please!" he cried so loud that the birds nesting in the modest "bell tower" of the chapel's roof scattered. "Is this what we want to become? Superstitious serfs who live in ignorance and darkness from before the Reformation?" Carlos rolled his chair past Beebe and took center stage. "This is not what you and I set out to do when we declared independence from King James two years ago." He saw he had their attention and silence. Also, he had an opportunity.

"You and I came to the New World for many different reasons. But we all came here for a fresh start and a hope for a better future. That hope is America. America, she is birthing in this room. Right here. Right now. We have the chance to do it _right _and unlike ever before! A country, _a real country_ for us to call home. And a country does not swarm an innocent girl like a mob out of baseless fear and prejudgments. We do unto her like we'd have done unto us. Reasonable doubt. Respect for her humanity and for all those different from us. For we, of all sex, color, creed and religion, are human.

"When we came here, we took command of your colony initially to save it. But you have allowed us to stay. My kind has kept a watchful on the horizon and has helped build and protect your community….our community into a society. That society can flourish if we put pen to paper. If we ascribe the principles we stand for and the rules that will govern us. We can send out a message heard around the world. We are a nation that is governed by ourselves to serve ourselves. My God, give me a country!"

Stunned silence.

Carlos waited as he heard peoples' minds agreeing with his words more and more. He wheeled himself through the backdoor into Beebe's living quarters. As he departed, a slow but building applause grew. It became louder and louder. The shouts in the church turned from talk of witches to talk of an America state and real nation building. Ananias Dare soon followed into the living area

"So, it is, Carlos."

"So, it is." Ananias sighed at his response and rubbed his eyes.

"So, will it be."


	10. Chapter Nine

CAPTAIN'S JOURNAL

Capt. Stephen Roberts

Fort Henry, London Company

25 September, 1604

This is to be a detailed account of my experiences and discoveries while absent of duty for the last five months. As extensively detailed in the Gargan Report, I vanished after an ambush by natives on 10 April. However, despite Private Matthew Gargan's dramatic and heroic recollection of his escape and my death at the hands of savages, I can attest to being very much alive. Thus, I shall attempt to recount my intervening months.

After the ambush, I was critically injured and taken captive by the natives. Bound in rope, I was taken to their chief to be interviewed about the intentions of the Cape Henry colony and the onslaught of white settlers in general. Unable to properly communicate, I was to be surrendered to the chief's daughter; a girl I shall refer to as Pocahontas. However, due to the severity of my injuries, I became violently ill with a form of swamp fever. I do not know how many weeks past, but I was nursed back to health in the tent of the princess. Given the length of my disappearance, I speculate that I hovered in and out of consciousness for as few as four weeks and as many as six.

.

It was on a warm summer day when I opened my eyes. I was curled on a pile of the softest blankets in a quaint tent. The walls were made of thin animal skin and glowed awash in sunlight. After searching my memory, it seemed I had been there in a long dream. A face appeared above mine and pulled me back to reality. Soft and gentle, it was the young face of my dear Pocahontas. She has sweet, sympathetic dark eyes that are complimented by her flowing dark hair. She wore a wreath of braids through her hair that day and it reminded me more of the maidens of children's stories than a savage one would find in the imagination of the English court (or Matthew Gargan).

Evidently, I was to be the princess's pet in so many words. After, I proved incomprehensible to her father, it was she who saved my life and was left in charge of nursing me back to health. She used herbal potions made by an Indian crone in her tribe that I still don't know the names of. All I know is that I was at death's door, but did not step through it. To her father, I may have been a minor irritation to have in their community, similar to a stray dog. But to Pocahontas, I was both her student and teacher. While lucidity returned to me in the summer, it was months before I regained all my strength. In Pocahontas's care, I taught her of the Old World and she taught me of the new.

First, she educated me in much of their language. I am of the mind that these group of natives are unrelated to the Croatans written of near the Roanoke Colony. The name of their community is _Powhatan._ However, it consists of more than one tribe or a series of unrelated groups. Rather, they operate as a confederacy of quasi-states. Ruled by one supreme chiefdom, they form more of a dispersed society than the term "savage" leads one to believe. That is why I think of them as the Powhatan Nation. The leader is Pocahontas's father, whose official title is Chief Powhatan, though I believe his birth name is _Wahunsenacawh_. As my condition bettered, he allowed me to venture around the tribal ground, which sat beautifully in a wooded clearing near an inland river. Soon, I was able to converse coherently with the chief. Powhatan says some of his people have dealt with white men before to unpleasant results and he worries if my arrival signals a great migration of more of my kind on wooden ships. I tell him no, feeling it is in both our interests to spare him the company's plans that are years away from fruition. Chief Powhatan refers to me as "_Attemous"_ after that, which means dog.

The princess taught me many words and phrases. My weakness, represented by a recurring cough, she calls "_Nussuccum."_ She often would say to me "_Vmpsemen Apook"_ when forcing me to drink water and her medicines. The butterfly that she'd place on my hand would be a "_Manaang-gwas"_ to bring me the relief of "_Cohqwaivwh._" I still call her Pocahontas, but every time I do she giggles mischievously at me.

As my recovery accelerated, she and I would go for walks along the river that would take us miles away from home. I found my slight size was growing in both height and tone more than I thought possible. I became fluid in her language and she began to understand mine. I told her of England. I told her of buildings as tall as trees, vast grounds of stones and how St. Paul's touches the sky. I told her of His Majesty and his hope to unite England with these Americans. She was skeptical of much of what I said, but listened enraptured anyway. I'm unsure if it was my language or voice that captivated her so.

After a number of months, I not only returned to the peak of my physical health, but had surpassed it. I was stronger and more able than ever I was prior to my capture. On one of our afternoon walks, I finally broached the subject of my release.

"No," she said in our King's tongue.

"My sweet Pocahontas, I need stay no longer. My strength has returned in battalions."

"You don't go."

"I need you talk to your father about releasing me, so that I can return to my people. I will tell them of your great kindness and generosity to me." She looked at me with those longing eyes and put her hand to my face. "Lips," I said.

"Lips." She stood up and placed hers on mine. I knew she wanted to do that for sometime. But the difference in cultures and her father's hospitality—I could not.

"Pocahontas," I began.

"Stop calling me that," she said in her native tongue. "I want you to stay. I want you to stay with me." At that moment, Manaang-gwas landed peacefully in her raven hair. She was a vision of natural beauty and serenity I knew not was possible. Before I could reply she placed her hand over my mouth and kissed it. When she removed her hand, I said nothing as her lips found mine again.

I must have been a willful prisoner of the Powhatan Nation and Pocahontas's student for at least a month more. I began helping with the daily chores of Wahunsenacawh's tribe, learning their ways of life and measured consumption. In the afternoons, Pocahontas and I would escape to our grassy meadows and dreams. I knew it had to end. One morning Chief Powhatan came to sit next to me by the water. I had just finished helping clean the animal skins that I myself now wore. We spoke in his language.

"Attemous, it is time for you to return to your own people." He gave me the hard stare of a knowing father. "I permit my daughter…my little Pocahontas, to spoil herself. But come tomorrow, you must leave." I wanted to protest, but knew I needed to return to my duty and did not want to spite this great man.

"I understand, my Chief." I could feel his judging eyes and remembered the day we had met.

"Good. Tell the English that your Virginia cannot cross the wetlands." He stood up and walked off without another word. I could not tell him the truth about my countrymen, fellow countrymen who now seem so foreign and distant to me.

That afternoon, as we rested in the tall grass, I told Pocahontas of my sentenced freedom.

"No!" she cried. She sat up, resting her small, angled chin on her knees. I pulled myself up behind her, my head on her shoulder.

"I have no choice. It's what must be done. I've come to love your country, your New World. But it's time for me to return to mine."

"But I want you to be here," she muttered in her native tongue. "To be mine." I turned her head ever so delicately with my fingers.

"I already am." I pulled her into me.

After a while, she grew a look of acceptance. That's when a spark of an idea flashed in her eyes. She grabbed my hand and pulled me up. We gathered our things and were running before I knew where it was we were going.

"Pocahontas…"

"You shall see," she yelled back without slowing down. Soon enough, we found ourselves outside a small tent by a pond. The late afternoon sky was graying ominously.

"Who lives here?" I said, in between breathes.

"The healer who gave me your medicine." We entered the dark hut of a space. I did not know what to expect before she appeared. She was an old woman, disfigured in face and sparse of hair. She wore the black furs of winter in the still warm days of a nascent autumn. She looked at me closely.

"Is this the one?" she asked.

"Yes," Pocahontas said with trepidation.

"My name is Steph…" I said before Pocahontas gave me a look that said, 'Silence, you fool.'

"Why do you bring him here?"

"Because, I want you to finish what you started," the princess said. I became increasingly frustrated.

"Started what?" I hissed, not caring for Pocahontas's scornful looks.

"She's healed you with special herbs drenched in a spring that gives power to those who have none," the old woman said with a crooked smile.

"Power?"

"Yes, she thought you were to die and little _Matoika _must always have what she wants. And, Matoika wanted you to live as her own little discovery. But also to become stronger so that you may not fall into illness again." I nodded along, pretending I understood of what she spoke. "So for a fair price, I gave her the most precious of waters."

"What water?"

.

We stood outside a small spring underneath a trickling stream that barely passed for a waterfall. However, what was most noticeable was a yellow-white light that glowed in an orb miraculously above the water.

"What witchcraft is this?" I demanded.

"I know not," the crone said. "It appeared seventeen years ago around the same time as Matoika's birth," she said with a glance to the princess. "It illuminates that water, no matter the time. A water that does….something for people." I studied it in disbelief. "So, are you going in or not?" I looked at the two of them dumbfounded. "We came out here for a purpose. Your 'Pocahontas' wants you to bathe in these waters," she explained to me as if I were a small child. I had the sinking feeling this was a witch's spell. Pocahontas saw the horror in my eyes.

"Stephen, I want you to go in," she said to me.

"I will not!" I said in a shout that surprised myself.

"And why won't you?" asked the witch.

"Because I do not know if this is the hand and will of God or another's." Pocahontas put her hand on my shoulder and her mouth to my ear.

"It is no one's will but our own. I don't want you to become hurt or injured again. I want you to find your way back to me."

"But why this?" She turned my head with her fingers, ever so delicately.

"Because, I want you to," she said before passionately pulling my tongue into her mouth. When she let go, she had the saddest, most longing eyes. I said nothing.

As I stripped off my skins, the crone cackled.

"Little Matoika always gets what she wants," she said. I looked back at the old woman.

"Why do you keep calling her that?"

"Because that's her name. She is known as Pocahontas, because it means spoiled, naughty one!" I looked over at Pocahontas in shock and I witnessed what may have been her first grimace of humility in her whole life. I raised my head to the dimming sky and laughed uproariously.

"And so she is," I said with one more chuckle. Without a second thought, I dived headlong into the water. I knew little of how long to stay, but in less than a minute the crone was grabbing my arm and pulling me back to the surface and on land. She dropped me like a sack of rocks on dry earth.

"Are you crazy?" she asked. I shook my head. "Nobody has stayed in there longer than a moment. We do not know what it can do." I rolled on my back and looked at the emerging moon in the sky.

"It's in God's hands now," I replied.

.

We did not return to Pocahontas's tent until well after dark. We said no words before going to our separate beds. There was nothing to say. The next day, I awakened and thanked many in the tribe for their hospitality, most especially Chief Powhatan. Pocahontas was by the river. I approached her in my now very tight English clothes. I wanted to say something, though I still have no idea what that would have been. She ran off as soon as she saw me coming. I stood over the water and gazed at myself. I was not the man I had once known. I looked like a cathedral and felt as strong as one. I was not so much surprised as accepting. Though I will concede that a small smile crossed my face.

.

The journey to Fort Henry was surprisingly easy. The air was obviously cooling for the coming fall, but I had a sense of stamina I thought was impossible. I was able to run miles without a drop of sweat. What should have taken a day took merely a few hours.

I reached the fort on the 24th of September. It was unlike what I remembered. Instead of cloth tents cut out around scattered supplies and downed oak, there was a small but structured wooden fort with pikes for a wall. When I entered the fort, it was like a ghost returning from the grave. Many a man I remembered looked at me in disbelieving eyes. While I frolocked in what already seemed like an endless daydream, the summer was harsh on them. Half suffered from malaria and several were already in the ground. I came back more fit than any of them had ever looked. The twist of fate was not lost on them. An older man, looking surprisingly frail, in a red Elizabethan suit came up to me.

"Stephen?" He touched my shoulder and it was my turn for the shock.

"Captain Newport? Sir!" I stood at attention. He ignored that and hugged me with both arms.

.

The summer had been worse than I imagined for the fort. Construction on a swamp was an awful stroke of lunacy. While the food has yet to run scarce, men's health and morale is low. Captain Newport is to return to England for more men in supplies. He appointed me as captain in his stead. Given my lack of experience or even time in the fort, I tried to talk convince him otherwise. He looked at me for a long, long time.

"You already have become a captain, Stephen. A Captain of America."

The Germans, suffering themselves, delayed the Roanoke campaign until after August. I understand _Captain _Schmidt rationalized it as better to hit them near harvest time, when they would all be near the colony. I wish I could see that man's face now, but they departed for Roanoke several days before I returned to the fort. God help the people of Roanoke.


	11. Chapter Ten

"Again."

Carlos Javier commanded Jean Grey like a British commodore on the high seas. After months of daily training she was on the verge of a breakthrough. Wherever her new abilities came from, as Carlos questions whether they were part of her Witchbreed birthright, she has become remarkably strong. She may be the most powerful Witchbreed he has ever seen…if she can but learn to control and harness her gifts. Unfortunately, the fact that her memory has yet to return fills the professor with doubt.

"Again," Charles said. Roberto Trefusis, literally the man of ice in Javier's school, shot a watery crystal into the air and Jean incinerated it with a blast of fire. Charles looked up from his parchments and muttered inaudibly to himself. "Again." Jean asked an equally bored Roberto with her mind how many more times they would have to do this.

"Too many," he thought for the both of them.

In recent months, Carlos was a man in many places. While he loved Jean Grey with all his heart, she was his first student and surrogate daughter, her inability to trust herself frustrated him beyond words. He has also spearheaded months of town meetings about what an American government should look like. It seemed preposterous to create a fully developed system of governmental departments and powers when they were little more than a village. Yet, he envisioned a beacon for the adventurous, bold, outcast and, yes, Witchbreed to flock to. Inevitably a republic will one day make more sense. Still, given they could not agree on the formation of a legislative body or how laws would even be carried out, Carlos and the men of Roanoke agreed to simply create a writ of limitations for any future government and thus prevent another monster like King James from being empowered. Also, a legal system that avoided persecution and rather sought justice needed to be created in a firmer way than British monarchy experiments. Of course, he was the one to provide drafts for all this before the end of the year. So, here he sits with Jean Grey exploding ice behind the Javier House before his eyes, as his mind drifts over countless revisions of self-government. _Self-government? What an absurd phrase._

"Carlos," a voice whispered behind him. He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Enrique was standing behind him. He turned his attention to the old friend. "Carlos, I don't believe you're even watching our Jean using her gifts." Enrique knew Javier hated when he took ownership of Jean.

"Enrique, not now. You can see that she's developed as of late. The only person who can break that final wall though is her." Jean looked over to them as the two old men conversed near the house. "Also, I must write a statute of rights for our citizens, the likes of which has never been seen. If you add to that a concrete foundation for a currently unfinanced and unenforced judicial system, then I really don't have time to play games with you."

"Carlos, you need to live life and sometimes accept things as they are." He pointed to Jean as she destroyed about the last ice sheet she could take. "You see her limitations, but I only see potential. Soon, she will be greater than you or I ever were."

"Enrique…"

"You must learn to mediate instead of contemplate. Besides, you're also attending a wedding this afternoon."

.

Peter finished putting on the black suit he had tailored for this very day. It cost more than a day's earnings, but it was also more than worth it. On this surprisingly cool 25 September, he was going to marry Virginia Dare. He looked in the mirror and smiled to himself. All the things about honor, dignity and right of action that both Uncle Benjamin and Sir Nicholas Fury taught him finally made sense. They culminated in this moment. It's true, they engrained these ideas into him so that he could become a master spy like Sir Nicholas and his parents. But those same attributes apply to the life of a simple man. A life that feels not only comfortable to Peter, but vital.

The young groom turned around and looked at the empty church. Soon it would be filled with all of Roanoke, or America as Carlos Javier now calls it. They were at the start of a new nation and Virginia and he were at the start of a new life. It seemed more than fitting. It almost seemed perfect. Peter felt a small shudder go down his back. Nothing in life has ever been perfect, especially for a Parquagh. The lad shook his head to dispel the rising dark thoughts. He went to the Reverend's living quarters and knocked on the door.

"Peter, how many times must I tell you that we're preparing!" said a sharp elderly voice on the other side.

"I just wanted to see the two women of my life one more time before the maelstrom starts." A mildly irritated Aunt Miriam opened the door. Virginia was in a white robe that, like all things, complimented her snowy hair and celestial eyes.

"Peter, you know what they say about a groom who sees his bride's wedding gown before," Virginia teased him.

"I doubt that is it."

"No…but I'll never be able to get it on if you continue to pester us, so." Peter looked at the two of them and just smiled.

"I want to remember this image," he said of the three of them. "Us together, on this day."

"Soon, you'll be off on a life of your own," Aunt Miriam said wistfully. Peter looked at her questionably. They had discussed this a thousand times. The bride intervened to prevent another tension.

"Aunt Miriam, you know Peter and I love you dearly. We have no plans to leave Roanoke. It's been my home for all my life." Aunt Miriam knelt down next to Virginia Dare and held her hands.

"I appreciate it child, but I see how the two of you wanting to go beyond this island. If you wish to explore this continent, I will not stop you." Virginia put her palm on the older woman's face in the most comforting of ways. "None of us are leaving, Aunt Miriam."

"Charming," a voice said from the doorway. "Absolutely charming and I haven't even seen the dress." On the other side of the frame stood old Jonathan Crowley, cleaning his glasses. "I came by to wish you good luck again and also to find your father." Virginia gave the old man a lovely smile.

"He is still counting crops of wheat again before the harvest." Crowley nodded in approval.

"Charming," he said once more. He turned to leave, but was stopped by Virginia's voice.

"Please make sure that my father is on time for my wedding."

.

Roberto hastily put on his tie and completed his plain, blue suit. He stood before a mirror, next to his two compatriots Scotius and Werner, who were trying to tie the latter's wings to his back.

"Preparing haggis from a sheep's gut is less messy," complained Scotius.

"I don't even understand why the professor is forcing this," whined Werner.

"Because he wants us to look as appealing as possible to our neighbors," Henry McCoy said as he entered the room in a flourished black suit that was about to break at the seams. "After all, this is the first Christian wedding in America."

"That'd be great if I believed in God," mumbled Werner as his wings ballooned under their roping.

"At least the professor isn't having you spend hours a day babying Jean," Roberto sighed. Scotius looked over at him in a way that caused Roberto to look away. It was a countenance far chillier than anything his powers could produce.

"You needn't worry about that more today," Henry said. "Jean does not intend to attend the festivity." There was silence. Scotius marched out of the room and down the hall to try to speak to his once dear sweetheart.

"Scotius, wait!" Werner shouted behind him. Scotius reached Jean's door at the end of the hall and pounded. Wanda, dressed in an elegant pink dress for the wedding, opened the door.

"She doesn't want to see you Scotius."

"I'm hear to talk about the wedding," the spurned boy explained.

"Tell him, I heard him think that already," a voice from behind the door said. Wanda prepared to relay the message to the Scot, but he was already gone. Scotius didn't know whether to scream or weep. So, has been their relationship since the day she returned. Wanda left Jean to her interests. She walked down the stairs to find Enrique waiting.

"How is Mistress Grey?" he asked sincerely.

"She is fine, but tired. After all of her sessions with the professor, she seems exhausted."

"Does she tell you her thoughts on herself or her abilities?" Wanda grew annoyed with Enrique's constant questions about Jean Grey.

"Master Enrique, I no longer serve you and thus have no reason to report to you." Enrique's eyes flashed on reflex, but quickly softened.

"Wanda, my dear…I meant not to offend you. Please know that the safety of yourself and brother Pietro is always my first concern." He lifted her hand in his and held it to his chest.

"Why have you attempted to be so sweet around my presence? When I served you, you thought only of a war on humanity." Enrique's face grew weaker and more uncertain by the second.

"I guess you could say that I missed you and your brother's company."

"Yet, you don't try to befriend him."

"Because….I hope you can forgive me for all that I've put you through." The weight of Enrique's years finally appeared. "I think that you can most forgive me." She looked at the old man with sympathetic eyes. She wanted to believe him. But she's seen him do too many evil things and burn too many people to ever trust him.

"Are you coming to the wedding, Master Enrique?" she finally asked.

"Despite our…disguises, my faith—if I even have a faith—my people's tradition, has no home on this island."

"Professor Javier says all will be welcomed in America."

"Great thinkers like Carlos will always think such great things. But you'll find that the ideas of his Americans can be much smaller."

.

Ananias Dare stared into the late day's sunlight with a sense of nostalgia. His daughter was to be married today. She's leaving his home and never returning. At least, not as the girl he knows. He's well aware that that is the reason he chose to be checking crops he had already looked at three days ago. Somehow though, the reality of his bitter situation seemed a distant fantasy from the work at hand. Outside of Roanoke it was only him and the plants of the earth.

"Ananias, what the hell are you still doing out here?" said a voice from the road_. Right on time_. "You're daughter is to be married in an hour and you'll be the last one at the church," said the now visible Crowley.

"Just finishing my work, Jonathan." The old man stopped next to the governor and put his hands on his knees. The support made the deep breathing easier.

"You're daughter is waiting for you, Ananias. If you make her start her new life without you, who's to say that you'll even be in it?" Ananias started laughing at his old friend. Crowley, against his better wishes, started giggling between wheezes as well.

"Damn, Jonathan. I was planning on skipping the whole affair," the governor said with thick sarcasm, "but you have shown me the light. Hallelujah!"

"Amen," Crowley said with one more wheeze. "Now, let's get going." Ananias was still chuckling to himself when he heard the gunshot. It rang loud and clear through the nearby woods as only a musket would. Dare didn't see the musket ball strike Jonathan Crowley, but he did see the black mark it left where his right eye used to be and the blood from it splash onto Dare's face.

.

The wedding was supposed to start two hours ago. But here Virginia Dare sat, still in Reverend Beebe's living quarters. She worried her wedding dress would decay in crinkles with each passing second. She knew her father became withdrawn as this day inched closer. The father of the bride's reluctance only seemed natural. She never dreamed he'd try to derail her wedding in such a way. Even Crowley hadn't returned. She lowered her head into her hands ready to scream. Aunt Miriam placed her weight on the young girl's shoulder.

"If you want to cry just let it out." Virginia Dare raised her head, showcasing a face full of more determination than sorrow.

"I don't want to cry Aunt Miriam. I want to be wed. Tell the reverend, we may proceed."

The walk down the aisle was a marvelous affair. Henry McCoy played on the piano he had made himself for this special occasion. He looked like a tomato about to pop out of his dark suit. Virginia smiled to herself, assured she'd always remember the image. Around her stood all the friends and neighbors she'd known in her life. Both old, Reverend Beebe, and new, Javier and his students, were here. Even little grumpy James and Phillip. They frowned at the former's little sister, Rebecca as she held up Virginia's modest train. However, the bride knew they really frowned at losing their crush. Virginia Dare then looked beyond the pews and saw the boy she loved is now the man before her.

Peter Parquagh got a nervous shudder again at seeing his bride approach. Part of him was nervous about the ill omen her father not showing up for the wedding could mean. But it was mostly at how beautiful his wife-to-be appeared. She wore a white sleeveless dress and a simple veil. The dress was cut lower than any Virginia had ever worn with lacing around her neckline. Peter had never seen Virginia look so much….like a woman. He liked it. He also really liked the little green embroidery placed sparingly around the gown. _My Lady Greensleeves._

When Virginia finally reached the altar to stand by her fiancé, she felt closer to home than ever before. Peter was simply happy to be so close to her hypnotic blue eyes again. McCoy ended his musical tribute.

"Dearly…" Beebe started.

"Dear me!" screamed a voice from the opened door of the church. "Holding a wedding without the bride's father? Such bad manners," said Johann Schmidt. He stood in the doorway in his perfect black uniform. Governor Ananias Dare was on his knees next to him, bloodied and beaten with his hands bound.


	12. Chapter Eleven

"Once more, please pardon my intrusion," Johann Schmidt said. "It seemed like such a lovely ceremony and Governor Dare had nothing but glowing things to say about it. But as you know, the king's business must supersede all other affairs."

Schmidt posed on the few outdoor steps the church had. The people of Roanoke stood before him, transfixed in horror. The twilight air was darkening and a bowl filled with wood and fire had been placed on the steps to better illuminate the German. Ananias Dare looked, tired and half dead as he kneeled in defeat next to the man. All of Roanoke, including Javier and his students, waited to see how this performance would play out. It did not hurt that they were entirely surrounded by over a hundred German mercenaries pointing muskets at them.

"I know there is a wedding much delayed and still a celebration to be had," Schmidt said with a sneer. "So, I shall be blunt and to the point. Two years ago, on the third of May 1602 to be exact, your colony formally seceded from British rule. At least that is what this paper claims," Schmidt said holding up a document that Lord Richard Reed crafted himself, but bore not his name.

"Is this not true?" he rhetorically asked his audience. After menaced silence, "No? Because your King James is a loving and forgiving king. He knows well the power and corruption that Witchbreed and their supernatural ilk can place on his weakest subjects. If he were to know that this declaration was a lie forced upon you by Carlos Javier and his sorcery…if you consented only under duress…then he shall forgive you." Schmidt tossed the parchment into the fire. Carlos sat in his chair, desiring nothing more than to destroy this little man's mind. But he knew too well that such an act would cause his men to start firing into the crowd…he couldn't control all their minds at once.

"All that is required to save your colony from the ruination of being out of his good graces is to swear your loyalty to the _**KING**_. Swear an oath of fealty to him above all others as your lord, master and savior, and no harm shall befall you, your home or your family." Murmurs of approval and resigned terror drifted through the crowd.

"Well that and one more requirement." Schmidt's face began to contort with twisted pleasure. "You must turn over your Witchbreed oppressors. The King has deemed for their born wickedness and in particular rebellious treachery that they must die here!" Every soul in Roanoke started yelling a different simultaneous thought. Though no words were discernable, chaos could be tasted in the cool air. Scotius looked at his fellow mutants. Even timid Wanda had a look of angered defiance. They were ready so step forward and declare war on the hired thugs.

"_**STOP!**_" bellowed a voice well known by every newly minted American citizen. The voice came from a humbled Governor Dare. He raised his head from the ground, his white-hot gaze seen through the mess of long, blood-soaked hair scattered over his forehead. That gaze grabbed everybody's attention. In the center of the crowd he saw Peter standing next to his daughter in her wedding dress. She was a vision, even with the tears in her eyes. The soft blue eyes he recognized from the first colonist-born baby of the New World.

"This is what the bastard king wants! Us, turning on our neighbors. Giving up our fleeting chance of self-reliance to a man who would have your fellow citizens burned at the stake. Witchbreed or no, they're every bit as American as you and I. We don't surrender to…"

The gunshot was swift and loud. Schmidt fired the ball from his pistol into the back of the governor's head. His body collapsed in a wretched angle. The blood dripped down the stone steps.

"I forgot to mention, Roanoke leaders, such as Governor Dare, who surrendered their colony to Witchbreed are beyond the king's forgiveness and must likewise be dealt with," Johann Schmidt said as he pointed the smoking gun at Ananias's body.

_"ARRRRRRAAAAAAAGH!"_ screamed a pained voice with all the anguish of a banshee. Everyone watched in thunderous shock as Virginia Dare transformed herself into the biggest monster she could think of in the moment. The day's bride transformed into a giant, twisted image of a brown bear. Over twelve feet tall on two legs, wide heavy claws on each arm, and perfect snow white fur, she began running straight for Schmidt. He was so stunned he barely had time to jump out of the way as she crashed into the church's front door, shattering it to pieces.

"Shoot it!" Schmidt cried. "Shoot her now."

"That's my wife," Peter Parquagh screamed. He found anger in his core he didn't know existed. He jumped like a spider to his prey onto Schmidt. Holding him on the steps and blocking a clear shot at the white bear. Aunt Miriam fainted at the sight of her nephew behaving like the spawn of witches. The Americans were too horrified by the sight to do much as the German mercenaries raised their muskets at them. Though the language of the cries were foreign, it was not hard to guess the words meant _fire._ Scotius gave Javier a 'shall we' nod.

"Now!" Carlos shouted. His students swarmed the disoriented Germans with their powers. And, all hell broke loose.

Javier's students prepared for this day all their life. Soldiers who had become well trained in the art of murdering Ottomans were less prepared for optic beams blasting holes into them. Scotius, with no filter on his eyes or cloth to block his vision, lay waste to half a dozen men at a time. Bodies flew through the skies of Roanoke, glowing red from fiery blasts. As they flew, other bodies dropped from the sky. Werner, Javier's angel, repeatedly glided to Earth, grabbing one or two Hessians at a time before whisking them into the sky…and letting them fall. Henry McCoy had a more direct approach. He dodged their clumsily aimed musket shots like a fox outsmarting a hound. He'd appear behind one enemy to snap his neck and underneath another to dislocate his knees. He even grabbed one and hanged him from his own belt on a nearby tree. Roberto, never as bloodthirsty, froze them in their tracks.

For his part, Javier tried to keep the loss of human life to a minimum. He entered mercenaries' minds one at a time and convinced them that they did not want to fight or serve Herr Schmidt. Instead, they wanted to go screaming into the forest and live like peaceful hermits. One by one, shrieking Hessians scattered into the night.

Peter, having never used his powers to inflict violence before, did the best he could in beating Johann Schmidt senseless on the stone ground. He knew Virginia literally wanted to maul the bastard, but he wanted to keep them as far apart as he could. Instead, she was defending him by bear-slapping any German who attempted to come to their captain's defense. The citizens watched this carnage unfold in abject fear. Slowly, the smell of smoke drew their attention away. A dozen or so other Hessians came running from down the street with fresh muskets. The houses of the island burned behind them. A clang of gunshots rang out and Roanoke's American citizens suffered their first casualties. Five people collapsed to the ground screaming in agony, causing most of the rest to flee. One of the dead was little Rebecca. The sound of a little girl screaming caused Peter to stop punching the bloodied Schmidt. Schmidt began laughing.

"For someone so surprisingly strong, you must learn not to pull your punches." He spit his blood on Peter. "Your colony dies because of freaks like you and your devil's whore." Peter turned his attention back to Scmidt only to see the dirt from the German's hand thrown in his eyes. Peter had a buzzing sound in his head that felt like it was warning him of this pain before it happened.

Scmidt rolled out from under Peter. He saw most of his men were dead or dying from grappling with the Witchbreed. He seriously underestimated their power. He looked at his less than a dozen remaining forces and ran up to one, confiscating his musket. He turned it towards the giant white bear galloping after him. The musket rang out and the bear was hit somewhere in the shoulder. It cried out in pain.

"NO!" Peter screamed from the church's step, still rubbing the sand from his face. Virginia turned into a white dove and tried to fly away up to the chapel's bells. Wishing to get rid of at least one monster, Schmidt grabbed his next man's musket and waited for the bird to fly out the other side of the steeple. When he saw the wings move in the shadows, he fired and the bird fell from the sky.

"Oh my God!" cried a voice from the small remaining crowd. It belonged to Wanda. She watched helplessly, too afraid to act. Schmidt heard her and in a boiled rage grabbed a pistol from his last musketeer and aimed it at her. She just stood there as he fired. She still stood there as the bullet stopped in mid-air. Schmidt looked over to see an old man garbed like a red monk with a cape standing by her.

Pietro ran to the school to get Enrique to the church as soon as the violence started. The master of metal captured the bullet meant for his daughter just in time. He knew not from whose gun it came, so he sent the ball towards the first standing German he saw. He used his powers to grab all the remaining loaded muskets and pistols in the area. He fired them all from mid-air. Few missed.

Johann Schmidt watched in wonder at this man. Though it had only been seconds since he shot the Virginia bird, he forgot all about the Parquagh boy before he felt his hands again. Peter wrapped his arm around Schmidt's neck and threw him with excessive force into the stone stairs.

"I'll kill you, you piece of shit!" Peter screamed as he jumped on the man. "You thought I was holding back too much?" he shouted as he crushed Schmidt's nose into his skull. "Die you monster!" he said. After a barrage of heavy punches, Schmidt still breathed.

"…The only monsters I see here are you….and your whore," he whispered. Peter stood and scraped Schmidt off the stairs.

"You don't think you are a monster because you can hide it?" he asked accusingly. "Then, let me help you find your true self." He grabbed Schmidt's injured head and shoved it into the bowl of flames. Schmidt let out a heinous scream, one prolonged and unbroken enough to cause those not dead or hiding to stop. Peter stood there, with his foot holding Schmidt's head into the flames. After several minutes, he pulled Schmidt's body out of the fire. His skin had been burnt off. His face was cooked down to the bone. Peter threw his body on the ground as it still wrenched in agonized twitches. Peter fell to his knees by Ananias's dead body and wept. Tears of pain and loss, the kind he had never known, came gushing out. She was gone. He was all alone again and she was gone.

.

In the dark after the bloodshed had ended, several Germans quietly braved their way back into Roanoke, past her walls. They found among the many dead strewn about the one main road, a red and blackened face moaning for help.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Peter couldn't meet Aunt Miriam's eyes. He knew she wanted to comfort him and to console him. He felt her arms around his body and her head on top of his. She tried to rock him soothingly in his chair as if he was still a boy. He should be grateful for her support and for her not asking any questions. But since they returned home, as everyone did with nary a word after the senseless chaos, all he could feel was rage—rage and loss.

Why didn't he move quicker blinded or not? Why didn't he kill that sadist when he had the chance instead of pulling his punches? Why did _they_ have to come on this day? He knew he was to blame. With great power comes great responsibility? No matter how much power he has, he'll always be a failure. Virginia and her father are two more people he cared about who he couldn't save, just like Uncle Benjamin and Sir Nicholas. Instead of his wedding night, he was in the darkest moment of his life.

"I'm going," he abruptly said. He shook off Aunt Miriam's arms and wiped the tears from his face. Without looking back at her he went to door and left.

"Where are you going?" she asked with worry in her voice. Peter didn't respond. He couldn't if he wanted to.

.

Wanda left Jean's room quietly. For all the power the professor and grand inquisitor believe Mistress Grey has, Wanda sees her as more a helpless child than a deity. She must have heard, with her ears or otherwise, the violence by the church. Instead of acting on it, she curled up into a ball in one of the corners of her room. Wanda found her whimpering when they returned. The strange girl could not even articulate her fear.

"How is she, Sister Wanda?" asked a solemn Enrique. He had waited outside the bedroom the last half hour.

"She….she's fine," Wanda answered. "It took her a while to go to sleep, but she's resting now. I only hope she doesn't have any nightmares tonight," Wanda said with a shiver. The one night Jean did have bad dreams last month resulted in the house nearly burning down (thank God for Roberto's icy hand).

"I'm glad to hear it," Enrique said with an apologetic look in his eye. He put his hand on her shoulder and she felt comfort from this man for the first time in the ten years she's known him.

"What troubles you?" she asked, taking his hand down but holding it in hers. She felt the coldness of age and regret in his grip.

"If I had been there, I could have stopped those fools before things escalated."

"Roanoke's losses….they were great. I know not what will become of us now, but you saved many of us. You saved me."

"But you were almost…lost," Enrique said with reddening eyes. "If I lost my daughter, I could never forgive myself." Her mind crashed. _'My daughter?'_

"Did you say…"

"The reason I kept you in those Catholic garbs away from the Inquisition…the reason I wanted you to know Carlos Javier's kindness more than just my authority is because you and Pietro are the only things I've been yet able to accomplish in my life.

Wanda was speechless. A small tear rolled down her cheek.

"I'm sorry," he said turning away for the stairs. She immediately spun him around and wrapped her arms around him. It was the embrace Enrique always wanted, but the hug he never expected or deserved.

"You're not upset?" he said cautiously.

"I don't know why you did what you did…but you've been there for us when we've most needed you. You've made us strong." Enrique closed his eyes and thanked a God he had long stopped believing in. "Thank you, father."

.

Peter opened the door to the Dare House. He didn't quite know what to expect. He wasn't even sure why he was here. But he felt drawn. He shut the door behind him and looked around. He stood in the central room with its grand table—for dinners and meetings—in front of him. It had plates and the only silverware in America set-up and decorated around it. Two candlesticks sat atop the red tablecloth that Virginia herself had made. This was to be used after the wedding that never happened.

Peter remembered when he met Ananias Dare two years ago in this room. Still a shy boy of only 14 years, he could barely get his words out in the man's presence. It worked out that little Virginia Dare had no problem doing more than twice the talking for both of them. She explained to her father how he absolutely had to stay there and how she always wanted a friend her own age and it would be murder to turn him out or send him back to England and that if loved her she would let him stay. Peter smiled to himself. Ananias let them all stay. He let the Fantastik four stay long enough to write a declaration for his colony. He let Carlos Javier stay and turn Roanoke into the first sanctuary for Witchbreed. And, he let Peter stay in his own house. He let Peter stay with his own daughter. Ananias was a great man and Peter failed to save him just as he failed Virginia. The smile faded. Peter sat in the dark at the empty reception table alone with his misery. He ran his fingers through his hair and again wondered what he could have done differently.

As Peter ruminated on his mistakes and regrets, he barely registered the door to the home swinging open. Peter stood up straight, worried that another German mercenary had returned to Roanoke. He stared into the dark as a figure emerged from the outside world. Peter didn't have that strange buzzing feeling in his head, but could feel his heart stop. Out of the blackness emerged a wet and cold Virginia Dare. Peter nearly felt his jaw pop from the shock.

"Virginia!" he cried. She was soaked and tired. Her wedding dress looked dirty and splashed with small drops of blood from her shoulder. It must have been just a graze but it was more than enough to scare young Parquagh. "My God," he yelled as he ran to her and wrapped his arms around her tighter than a grizzly.

"Peter," she muttered through her voice. Tears ran down her face. She could not tell if they were still tears of sorrow or of relief.

"I thought you were dead," he whispered in a choking voice.

"Maybe I should be," he broke off the embrace and looked at her in disbelief. "My father…they killed my father." These were definitely tears of sorrow, now.

"I know, Virginia."

"Where is he?"

"We moved all the dead of Roanoke into the church. We've left the thugs to rot for the night," he replied. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't save him."

"You couldn't?" she asked with surprise. She shook her head. "I waited until he was dead to use my God's gift. What purpose did it serve to be blessed?" Peter looked at her in equal disbelief. He shut the door behind her.

"You were able to lead the revolt. You saved Roanoke."

"I almost died," she said grasping her shoulder. "I thought I did die up there, but I think I only fainted due to the blood loss causing my bird form to collapse." She lowered her head in shame, letting her wet sagging hair fall over his face.

"Virginia, I thought he shot you…I saw him shoot you," Peter said as the horrific memory came back.

"No, before I passed out, I saw the raven I scared off from the steeple fall from the sky."

"A raven?" Now, it all made sense. She'd flown up there and collapsed from the light wound in the mud by the bells. It wasn't her bird that Schmidt shot, but the dark shrouded that truth from them. Peter lost all interest in any other details for the time being. He pulled Virginia into him again and hugged her even tighter.

"You're alive. That's all that matters." She closed her eyes, finding what solace she could in Peter's arms. After several minutes, he opened his eyes and looked at her flesh wound on her bare shoulder, the dress torn by the water and musket ball. He kissed the top of it.

"We need to get you to the doctor," he said.

"No," she said so low, Peter wasn't sure he heard it at all.

"I don't want you getting sick," he explained in her ear.

"No," she said much more firmly as she pulled herself away. "Not tonight." He looked at her uncomprehendingly. "I don't want to think about that or anything else right now."

"Virginia…"

"Peter, it's my wedding night," she said. He was going to mention they were still not married, but he realized he didn't care. She stood on her tiptoes, pushing her face up to his and kissed him passionately. More aggressively than they had ever kissed by the meadows and the waters. Peter lost all other thoughts or questions and quickly found himself trying to undo her lacing. Growing impatient, his hand started ripping it off of her, destroying what was left of the dress. She threw off his suit jacket and spun around him. On instinct, she climbed backwards onto the dining room table, hitting the candlesticks and remnants of her old life away. The silver made a loud clang as it smashed against the floor. Soon, he was on her, in her, pulling her hair, biting her neck and tearing her stockings with his fingers.

She didn't want to think about her pain or her loss. She didn't want to think about her sadness. She just wanted to feel like she had a home again and find that pleasure and innocence she had lost. Sadly, one day soon she'd realize that innocence will never return. But in this moment she found the pleasure and escape she needed. Peter moved in her so hard the table cracked underneath them. She moaned softy, losing herself in what home she had left.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Peter and Virginia left her father's house early that morning. They did not sleep that night and only gave themselves an hour to clean up. She wore a simple, silver gown, hiding the bandage that covered her shoulder, and Peter wore his ruined new suit. They packed what possessions Virginia wanted from the old home as hastily as they could so Peter would have less to carry later. She never wanted to step foot in that house again. They shut the door on the broken plates and memories as the sun was barely visible. They first went over to Peter's house to leave her items there. Aunt Miriam was still in bed and they saw no reason to wake her. They quickly departed again and headed northwest, towards Javier's school.

Peter worried as Roanoke woke the morning after the carnage, like a drunkard would from a ditch, what the ramifications would be. Sir Nicholas taught Peter to be weary of what people say and do. He isn't even sure how they might react to Virginia being alive. They passed a dozen people who moved about their morning less in a routine and more in a distraction. Instead of gloomy, disapproving stares, they received approving nods and grateful eyes. Peter was shocked at the near applause-like response they were given by their neighbors. _Perhaps, an American state can work after all._

.

Carlos Javier sat in his chair of wheels by the main table with fear nipping at his heart. He felt as though he'd aged a decade in the last day. His dream of a safe haven for Witchbreed and an accepting American nation may be lost. How could he have not seen this coming? They watched the coast everyday, but never thought that James could start another, militaristic, colony somewhere else? Had he been too busy building sand castles to see the oncoming storm? He knew this was not over and he called a morning meeting to discuss what they would do next.

"We should hunt down the ones still fleeing in the woods and kill them all," Scotius said. His fist pounded the table in the way only an angry Scotsman's could.

"They're too far gone in the night," muttered Carlos.

"But you said you can hear them still, ever so faintly," the cycloptic boy argued. "That they're headed to a base colony in the north! Then we should follow and wipe them out."

"What if there are more," sighed Henry. "More colonies we don't know about? We can't leave Roanoke unprotected. Not after last night."

"Whose to say they're even coming back?" asked Roberto. "We devastated most of their men last night."

"There were no actual Englishmen in that raid," Carlos bemoaned. "Rest assured that they'll be back. And, next time they may not underestimate the Witchbreed so much."

"Let the come then," Scotius shouted. "We can bury them next to the Germans the undertaker is going to be grappling with all week." Carlos, sighed to himself again. He wanted to build a nation, not start a war.

"If I may," said the crimson-like monk in the corner. Enrique stepped out of the shadows and raised his hand. "This may be the opportunity we've been looking for to unlock Mistress Grey's full potential." Scotius looked disgusted at the old man.

"If you think we're going to risk her life as some kind of science experi…," he began before Javier raised a hand to silence him.

"I appreciate all that you've done for her Enrique, but I don't think this is the occasion where we play God with her powers and possibly even her sanity." Enrique and Carlos held one another's gaze for a long time.

"T'was just a thought," Enrique finally said. At that moment, Wanda entered the room. She tried to sneak a smile to her father.

"There are two people here that would like to talk to you." Carlos groaned, afraid that with Ananias dead, the Roanoke people were already getting out their pitchforks.

"Who?" Scotius asked.

"Master Parquagh and Miss—and Lady Parquagh," she said catching herself. That is how they told her to announce them. All the men in the room looked at each other. _Lady Parquagh_. _Isn't she dead?_ Carlos nodded to Wanda and she admitted them. They all rose from their chairs and Henry hopped across the room in a second to hug them both. Manners and etiquette be damned.

"I am so sorry for your loss," he said to both of them. "But I am so relieved to see you both standing before me."

"Thank you, Master McCoy," Virginia said.

"Henry."

"Henry."

"What may I ask are you doing here," Enrique said coldly. He cared not how they received their powers. He knew they were not true Witchbreed like himself.

"We know you're planning to defend Roanoke against any reprisals," Peter said. "And…"

"And, we want to be part of whatever defense you have in mind," Virginia Parquagh finished.

.

It was a muggy evening on 27 September when what was left of the Hessian forces reached Fort Henry. There were seven Germans standing and one whose face was badly injured on a makeshift stretcher between two of them. Hardly the return of the conquering heroes that Schmidt had in mind and Roberts had expected.

The entrance to the fort was opened at once and while of the Germans started screaming out in halted English the need for medical attention. Most of the English stopped what they were doing (drinking and playing cards at this hour) to encircle the men. A doctor approached the man whose face missed almost all skin and a large amount of muscle tissue. The agonized man on the stretcher was lowered to the ground. He brushed the medical examiner away.

"Where is….where is Captain Newport?" the injured cripple asked. Stephen Roberts stepped up in a grey Elizabethan suit he had borrowed from a similarly brawny individual.

"Captain Newport left with the tide yesterday. After, I returned he put me in charge and left for England before winter set in, now that the hurricanes have past."

"You?" said Schmidt, whose pained eyes didn't recognize him. "Who are you?"

_"Captain _Stephen Roberts." Schmidt's eyes searched Stephen's face until recognition slowly seeped in.

"You? They said you died with three of my men months ago. Something about vanishing savages."

"They're not so savage," Stephen said. The burned head shook in annoyance with this distraction.

"Lovely. Well Captain Roberts, I am commandeering you're men." Stephen's face went pale.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, under the powers invested in me by your king, I am taking over full command of this fort and this colony."

"For what purpose?" Stephen stammered out, losing his leadership pose.

"To kill the monsters and demons that did this to my face," the man said sitting up. His voice hissed both agony and a wanting for vengeance.

"To murder?"

"Yes, to murder. We're going to slaughter every last man, woman and child in that abomination of a colony." Stephen stood up straight and put his hands behind his back. He asserted his leadership stance again.

"Then I must respectfully refuse. You are in no condition to lead any expedition and you would distract from the purpose of this colony which is to harvest tobacco, grain, corn, cotton and…"

"You stupid ENGLISHMAN, I am taking over!"

"No, you're not." The crimson skull gritted its teeth.

"Arrest this man. I will see him hanged!" To Stephen's surprise, his English compatriots gathered on each side of him. It made sense, they had seen the smoothness with which Captain Schmidt had conducted affairs up to this point and Stephen was an old man's favorite promoted after being dead for five months. Still, it was a surprise.

Stephen was able to dodge his attackers with an ease and speed that surprised even himself. He deflected their attempts to grab them with brushes of the hand. They went right, he went left. They grabbed his arm, he broke their noses. He turned sharply to elbow one man trying to jump him from behind. He grabbed another and threw him into a tired German who stood exhausted before him. He flipped another English traitor at Schmidt who saw the body fly over his head in awe. Finally, he grabbed the one aggressive German by the collar and smashed his head into his. _Pocahontas made me invincible._

Stephen's knees gave out underneath himself. All of a sudden he lost control of his excellent body's movements and shook uncontrollably as he fell on the ground. He felt a foot kick him over. Above him stood Matthew Gargan holding a venom-tipped knife. Gargan looked over him to Schmidt with a ghoulish grin.

"Scorpion's sting," he said. "It won't kill him, but it will leave him paralyzed for days." Schmidt rolled his eyes.

"Excellent, Master Gargan." Gargan looked down again at Roberts and his smile grew even broader. He pulled from his vest a book—Stephen's journal.

"I thought you might find this an interesting read, sir," he said to Schmidt. He tossed the book to the injured man. "I marked pages I thought might be of particular interest." Schmidt flipped through the pages with ever widening eyes.

"It seems Sir Osborn was right about your usefulness," Schmidt said to the happy Gargan.

"Excuse me good sirs, but I don't think I'm interrupting," a voice said from the still open gate. They all turned to see a man in faded, torn purple pants. He wore furs for the rest of his clothing.

"And who might you be," Schmidt said with a grimace that no one could recognize in his disfigurement.

"If you wish to take on Carlos Javier's monsters, then you need something just as powerful to stop them."

"And you have something in mind," asked a skeptical Schmidt who didn't even turn his head from Roberts's journal.

"Yes. Me." There was snickering among the English and German alike.

"And who might you be?"

"I'm David Banner."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Stephen didn't want to come back to reality. In his mind he was running in the tall grasses of the Powhatan lands. Free from the world. Free from his English duty. Free from Johann Schmidt. Pocahontas ran by his side, as exhilarated as he. The grassy hills went on forever and her little giggle echoed in his ears. The laughter of the careless and happy was a laugh he had only known through her. Their summer days together were eternal. But he knew it had to end. Now.

He opened his eyes, which adjusted quickly to the darkness. It took but a moment to know where he was. He sat in Fort Henry's makeshift wooden brig. It was actually a food storage area filled with potatoes grown in the New World and kept-food from the Old. He rolled off the dirt floor as quickly as he could. The old him would linger there for hours, perhaps even days, fighting off Gargan's venom. But he could feel his body had already burned it out. He had no fever and no weariness. He did not doubt this was another of Pocahontas's gifts. He dusted the dirt off. Looking through the cracked wooden spikes that made up his captive door, there was only blackness. He comforted himself in knowing that it was still night. He could surprise them all very quickly.

"Guard," he shouted at the door. There was no response. "Guard!" He persisted the cry several more times before a young boy approached the door. It was one of the few lads of thirteen or so that they'd taken on their expedition. They were to learn their trade in the London Company on this voyage. "Master…Johnson?" he asked the boy.

"Jameson, sir—I mean Captain." The boy appeared nervous and reluctant of talking to Captain Roberts. The boy shifted his weight from one side to the next several times.

"Ah yes, Jameson. I believe you can stop calling me Captain, lad." The boy's face flashed confusion. "I'm not much of a captain in here, after all."

"Aye, sir." Stephen smiled at the boy. He liked him well enough and thought all the young men of the fort were admirable. He would have done what they did years ago if his fitness had not been in question.

"Boy, where is your master?" Anxiety crept back into the lad's pupils. "Son?"

"I'm sorry, captain, but I can't say. But, I'm watching you tonight." Stephen sighed. _The die is cast._

"Aye? All right come closer, I need to pass you a message." The boy stared at his captain as if he was the ghost of the Danish King himself come back to torment him. "Come here, sir."

"Why?"

"So that I may whisper something of import." The boy bit his lip and sucked in his air. He took several steps closer to the door and leaned his head close.

"What?"

"I wanted you to be here when I did this." Stephen punched his hand through the wooden log and grabbed the terrified boy. He held him there despite the lad's desperate struggling for escape as he used his other arm to break through more of the wood. Several seconds later the door crumbled and Captain Roberts stepped through.

"I'm sorry, cap'n, I'm sorry!" the boy cried. "Not all of us were mutinous. It's just many thought you made a deal with a ghost. That you're a Witchbreed yourself now!" Roberts threw the boy on the ground.

"Master Jameson, I don't want to hurt you. I just want to know why you're the only one watching me and where _the German_ is." The young one's eyes bulged in fear.

"I-I," he breathed hard. "I'm the only one older than thirteen left in the fort, Cap'n." Now, it was Stephen's turn to show confusion over his face.

"Where did they all go in one night?"

"Cap'n…you been asleep for over a day! Truth be told, you were supposed to be asleep for at least two more. They left at midday." Stephen felt sharp pains enter the back of his skull. He let go of the boy and began rubbing his eyes.

"A day?" The boy nodded in a consoling fashion. "Where did Schmidt take my men? Roanoke?" The boy took a deep, long breath. "Where are they?" Stephen repeated.

"The German….he's marching on the savages' land you wrote about in your journal, sir."

.

Johann Schmidt sat on his stretcher in the grass. They were perhaps five miles away from where Roberts wrote this Chief Powhatan's tribe was. They would not venture any closer until well into night. Schmidt was surrounded by his few remaining Hessians. Behind them crouched a hushed British company. They obviously did not think all-out war was part of their contract, but Master Gargan had played his part well in convincing them to coalesce around Schmidt. Gargan, to his credit, stood nearest the Germans. He drank cautiously from a bottle of whiskey and kept muttering to himself.

"So, Cap'n," Gargan said in respect to Schmidt. "You think the waters Roberts wrote about in his book are true?" Schmidt leaned back in his cot and put his cooked head on the ground. The gentle grass burned on both sides of his face and the shine from the stars above only worsened his permanent headache.

"It seems to have done wonders for your last captain," Schmidt said with a maniacal laugh. For some reason that he could not explain, he felt giddy.

"Aye…" Gargan grumbled. Since his accident, Schmidt seemed only more terrifying. "As the London Company's venture is now my responsibility—under your leadership, of course—I have to express our concerns. We're all well and good with killing these savages. But do you really mean to turn our guns on English folk?"

"Did you miss our little entertainment last evening?" asked a still grinning Schmidt.

"We'll kill the Witchbreed as the King suggested. But women and children?"

"You won't have to," Schmidt said sitting up from the ground. He looked over to the one stranger standing with the Germans. "If your claims be true," he said to David Banner.

"They are regrettably and damnably true," Banner bemoaned. He stood in a pair of clean pants and a wrinkled, but fresh white shirt. They were the first clean European clothes he had worn in years. But they provided no comfort, as David knew they wouldn't last. He hunched his shoulders and kept his hands in pockets—enjoying the luxury while he could.

"If your powers are true, then why haven't you used them on Roanoke before?" asked a skeptical Gargan.

"I have had no difficulty with the people of Roanoke Colony before today," he said. "When I came to the New World, it was to execute the traitor, Nicholas Fury. T'was before God saw fit to condemn me." David pulled his hands out of his pockets and stared at them with resignation.

"Then why now?" asked Gargan.

"Because you offer me a way home," Banner snapped. "Roanoke obviously doesn't trade with England. If I can get home on your next ship, I can perhaps cure myself. The best scientific minds are in Europe!"

"And the English in Roanoke?" Schmidt said, now leering over himself with wicked amusement.

"I live my life to serve my country. No matter the orders, I obey. If King James wants to punish Roanoke so biblically, I will perform those duties." Banner sighed to himself. "Besides, many of them are Witchbreed. More than meets the eye. They're no more Christian than these heathens before us." Schmidt leaned his head back again and look at the waxing moon. It was half fool and halfway into the sky.

"Well, it's late enough Master Banner. Shall we begin your test?" Banner untucked his shirt and loosened his clothes as much as they would go.

"Aye," he said in a deep Scottish brogue. He pointed to Gargan. "Hit me."

"What?" Gargan said with surprise. He was still fixating on his whiskey bottle.

"Hitting me makes me upset. You'll be pleased when I'm upset." Gargan shrugged to himself. He walked up to the crazed wild man and punched him in the gut. For a person who has lived in the wilderness for so long, he fell to his knees surprisingly quick. He shoved his knee into Banner's face. Drawing blood, Gargan smiled to himself. Banner began crawling on the ground as Gargan stomped on him with his foot. Gargan kicked him at least three times. On the fourth time, Banner caught his foot.

"Get back," Banner moaned. Gargan looked down at the little man with bemusement. Banner then raised his head revealing glowing green eyes. "I think you'd better run," Banner hissed before grabbing his sides. Gargan was halfway down the English line when Banner's shirt began to rip. It fell away to the growing and bulging grey muscles that enveloped it. His pants tore at all seams as his feet escaped from his new boots. He grew over seven feet in height all in all; the remains of his English clothes were also all over the place. Schmidt started laughing uncontrollably.

"Go forth, hulking giant," he said. "Lay waste!"

"And England? A trip home?" the stone-colored monster asked.

"Aye, a boat home," Schmidt said. The monster smiled to itself before leaping incredibly high and miles away towards the Indian village. Gargan and the rest of the men stared in disbelief.

"You're going to let that thing go back to England?" Gargan asked in still pure bewilderment.

"Of course not. When he reverts back to Banner in a smoldering Roanoke, he'll be just one more Witchbreed to slaughter," Schmidt said.

.

Stephen's feet pressed against the ground at a quickening pace. If there were limits to his new body, Stephen was going to find them now. He was faster and stronger than any man he'd ever known and he was trying to gain on a group of nearly a 150 men who've trekked through a swamp all day. Cooler weather or not, they'd be moving slower than a sermon on Sunday morning. Still, Stephen's feet couldn't cross the earth fast enough. He didn't even notice the burning in his lungs.

.

The grey monster did so much damage, so quickly that even Schmidt found it staggering. In the hour it took the German soldiers to carry Schmidt to the village, there was little left standing. The hulk had crushed tents and livestock. The dead bodies of Indian men were strewn across the landscape, intermingled with fallen trees and debris. Schmidt wasn't even sure if any had escaped. Cowering before the giant was an old woman, a crone that fit Roberts's description. The Germans approached the two.

"Hello," the burned man said to her. She shook her head in horror. She could not understand him. "I see attempting to converse will be largely futile," he said to her. "So…where is the magical water." She shook her head again.

"You took a Roberts—A. Stephen. Roberts. To. Shining. Water." Her terrified head continued to shake. The hulk raised its massive arm, ready to squash her. "Wait!" Schmidt said to the creature. "Pocahontas. And. Stephen," the German said to the woman. Her eyes glazed over. _Understanding!_ "You will take me!"

.

It was nearly dawn when Roberts reached Powhatan Nation. He ran right past the tired English as they slept. Some saw him sprint by, but he moved too fast to hear their reactions. He knew if they had stopped he could reach and warn Chief Powhatan in time of their attack. But the sight he found shook him to his core. _Something_ big and powerful had already reached at least this one tribe. There was nothing left but tattered and smoking ruins. Bodies were tossed about like confetti. He could feel his stomach wanting to heave this evil out of his system and onto the ground. The tears ran down his face like a river. _Is this what my nation has brought? War and death?_ Whoever did this, was no countryman of his. Stephen looked up at the cracking dawn and screamed. A scream that released all his years of pain, oppression and a sense of inferiority. A scream that freed him.

"Stephen?" a voice said from behind him. He turned to see over a dozen women and about 20 children. The leader of them was Pocahontas.

"You're alive!" he shouted running for her. She stepped back from him with tears in her eyes. She was afraid of him.

"White men like you called on that monster." Despite how slight she appeared, this night had clearly changed the spoiled one. It was a woman, and not the naughty daughter of a chief before him. "It spared most of our women and young ones. Telling us to hide," she said pointing to him. "But I saw his masters approach. They all looked like you, except one." An emasculated Stephen could guess who that one was.

"A red skull," the princess finally added.

.

Schmidt had been in the water for five minutes. He lifted his face only for the rare breath. He knew that it was foolish to believe in magic like a child. But this was his only chance to regain his strength, his honor and his dignity. Still, he saw what Stephen Roberts looked like after but a minute. Finally, he emerged from the water. Schmidt startled himself that he could exit on his own two feet.

Waiting by the glowing falls were his seven stooges and one giant grey one who held an old savage woman in his hand.

"Herr Schmidt…" one of his men said. "Your face." Schmidt felt his head and was surprised that a smoothness had returned to his features. Perhaps, even his cherished looks! He looked over to the water for a reflection. He saw a skull. A bright, red, and smooth skull. That giddiness came flooding back.

"Thank you Madame Savage," he said pointing to the old woman. "You have given more to me than you'll ever know," he said with a cackle. "But now, I'm afraid we've reached the point where I must greedily hide this treasure. Master Banner…" he said to the hulk. The hulk did nothing. "Master Banner," Schmidt said again. After a third command, the creature responded.

"I will not smash women or children." Schmidt smiled.

"Of course not. Put her down, so that I may reward her myself." The hulk grimaced.

.

Stephen helped remove as much debris as he could that day. They found several survivors buried under fallen wood. But most of the tribe, Wahunsenacawh's village, was dead. Eventually, Stephen reached the magical spring that blessed him. He found all he expected to find: a lifeless old woman and the discarded stretcher. Schmidt walked again. Stephen wept over the woman's body before bringing it back to be buried with the others. The sun was nearly down when the inevitable happened.

Pocahontas came to him by the riverside where she had refused to say goodbye only days ago. Stephen stood waiting for her there. He had thrown away his English clothes and wore the skins of a Powhatan. They were smeared in the dyes of new blankets that had fallen on them during the attack. He was a vision of red, white and blue. Stephen looked as melancholy and grief-stricken as she felt. He wasn't really one of them, she now knew. Her father had told her that, countless times. Only now, after spending an entire morning crying and grieving over his dead body, did she understand.

"You came back," she said to Stephen.

"Yes," Stephen replied. It was now he who couldn't meet her gaze.

"I asked you to. And I thank you for obeying," she said in pained English. After choking on the last word, she reverted back to her native tongue. "Now, I ask you to please never come back here again. You and your kind bring only death and destruction." The tears flooded her face with every word. Her sorrow came not in single arrows, but in battalions. "If you love me, please never return." Stephen resisted the urge to curl up into the fetal position and die right there. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." She nodded and attempted to turn away before her tears changed her mind or she lost complete control. "But I will return only one more time." She looked back at him in surprised despair. "I will return one more time and with me I shall bring the head of the Red Skull."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Werner soared through the clouds in his pre-dawn flight. On this cold 1 October morning, he was on his seventeenth survey of the land around Roanoke. Professor Javier was convinced that King James's men would be back sooner rather than later. Truth be told, Werner loved this responsibility. He may prefer not being up so early, but any excuse to glide freely among the blue skies or shining stars was welcomed. Now, there was no restraint of how much the professor allowed him to fly. No fear of scaring the denizens of Roanoke, for he was their guardian angel.

Flying cleared his head of the troubles that usually bothered him. Today, like most days, he'd been dwelling on thoughts of Jean Grey. He loved Jean when he thought her a boy and loves her as a sister now. However, he worries that by coddling her, they are depriving her of a return to true normality. Werner knows a sense of normality and confidence is desperately needed better than most. After the Spanish tortured and killed his mother, he didn't have a mentor holding his hand. In every sense, he's learned to live beyond the reach of man. Sometimes you can only teach yourself to fly by jumping from the tallest building (or tree on this continent). Yet, he knew secretly that his worries pertained more to Scotius Summerisle. The boy he had once hated he now cared deeply for—in a way that isolated him unlike any other of Javier's students. Werner bristled from the chilled air and shook his head. He remembered he flew to forget these matters.

After about half an hour of liberating his mind, he made one more pass by the north woods. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming when he saw the fires. Sure enough, torches by the hundreds were approaching Roanoke. They were a half dozen miles out and had thick foresting to travel through, but they were there. Werner felt his spine tingle. Every reconnaissance he performed at this point ended with him breathing easy. Once again now, he hated how right Carlos Javier always was.

.

All able-body Witchbreed (they left Mistress Grey to sleep) assembled behind Javier's school within the hour. Carlos wheeled himself along looking over his students with the pride of a father. Pieto, Scotius and the other original three all wore the navy blue uniforms that Wanda designed for them as they'd gotten older. By them stood the semi-newlyweds, Peter and Virginia Parquagh. He wore a dark variation on Wanda's design that she made in the last day and his Lady Love wore a pale green gown. They had quietly kept to themselves in the house. Roanoke was abuzz that they (temporarily) moved in with the Witchbreed and, just as scandalous, may be sharing the same room. Carlos was unsure if they were true Witchbreed or if they should even be considered married, but he didn't care. He was thankful for their help and resilience. If there was anyone else in Roanoke Carlos wanted by his side, it was the heirs of Ananias Dare.

Javier looked down the line of assembled allies one more time and saw Wanda standing in a midnight blue dress she must have made for herself.

"Wanda, I am surprised to see you not wearing Roman garb," he said.

"…Yes, I've decided to put that away for now." Carlos nodded, acknowledging the influence Enrique had gathered around her. He did not have to read minds to know that the truth had been revealed.

"And where is Enrique?"

"He's on his morning constitutional," she said hesitantly. "I don't know when he will return." Carlos sighed, surprising even himself from the longing he felt for his one-time friend at this moment.

"Very well," Carlos said for his own benefit. "Good morning my sons…._and _my daughters of Gentlefolk. This day is one we've been waiting for. This day will define your lives unlike any other. Today we face an onslaught of those who wish to deprive you of a country. To deprive you of your right not only to live freely, but simply to live. And why? Because of the prejudices, superstitions and pride of a small man who's taken to calling himself king. Well, he is not a king. No more than you or I are a king. Today, we shall send a message loud and clear for the entire world to hear. The outcast and despised, the ignored and the afraid, the different and the persecuted have a home. They have a land. A land we call America and by God she'll be a country!" Carlos stopped to catch his breath. He didn't expect applause, but instead was pleased by the quiet and determined silence he heard.

"Before any blood is spilled, I shall ask for terms. If there is but a chance to avoid more death, I shall take it. But if they refuse, for the love your neighbors in Roanoke and for yourselves, you should be prepared to…" and Carlos's words for the first time in years failed him. He'd never called for such explicit violence in his life. "You should be prepared to…"

"We shall be prepared to end the bastards!" Lady Parquagh yelled. The sentiment gathered the loud approval of the students. Carlos nodded his head. _So shall it be._

.

The morning air was still bitterly cold when the London Company finally exited the woods into a grassy clearing. The sky was an uncaring, bitter blue as the sun neared its birth. The grass was covered in a light misty fog that warned the warm days of summer were over. In the distance was the barely visible island of Roanoke. Much closer, by about several hundred yards, stood eight figures and one seated. _The Witchbreed._

The man with the red skull looked out at them with disgust. He'd killed Saracens and European warriors alike. But, he had never faced something like this before. It was a strange New World, indeed. One where to slay the monsters, he's had to become one himself. This time though, he will not fail.

"I expected more," Schmidt yelled across the field. "Has the rest of your sleepy little colony already abandoned you?" He received the answer, in his own mind.

"We have left the fighting, if that is what God intends, to those who can actually stand up to you." The thick Spanish voice clearly belonged to Carlos Javier.

"What devilry is this?" the crimson-faced man cried.

"I wish to come to terms. You clearly realize that you cannot win the day. You have brought only more men to be as decimated as your last force. It need not end that way again."

"Out of my mind, monster!" There was no more voice. "I will not broker a peace with those whose mothers had congress with the devil. If you attempt to control my words, all my men should know they are not mine. I am here to cleanse the New World of your kind and then to cleanse Roanoke of any and all who have sympathized with you." For a minute, there was silence.

"Then it is war," echoed in the crimson skull.

"It always was," he said aloud. The Red Skull quickly looked over at David Banner, in his torn brown pants and thin furs of a shirt. "Are you ready?"

Banner had been staring at two figures on the outside of the Witchbreed brew. They were his short-lived squire and his whore. They together had foiled Banner's attempt to execute the traitor Nicholas Fury and were chosen by God with abilities to hide. He'd in the same divine breath been cursed. He didn't need to feel Gargan's fists to find anger. He turned his head to the Red Skull and showed his glowing green eyes. "I've been ready," he hissed. A moment later, his body exploded out of its clothes and the grey monster returned.

"Good," Schmidt said with a smile. As devastating as Javier's monsters were, the German knew there was nothing more powerful than this abomination he had in service to the king. "No quarter."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

"What is that creature?" said a mystified Virginia. Across a foggy pre-dawn field stood over a hundred men with torches. And in front of them was a nine-foot tall monstrosity walking towards them.

"I know not," Peter could barely managed. He was more concerned with the flesh-less red face that controlled the monster. He thought he'd killed that man on his wedding day. After the body vanished overnight, he hoped a wolf or coyote had claimed the charred corpse. _Apparently not._

"Scotius!" Javier yelled. The young Scotsman had already stepped before his friends and allies to remove the cloth that shielded his eyes. He fired an unmitigated beam of pure energy at the creature. The hulking brute swatted it away with a brush of its overgrown arm, never losing its smirk. Scotius covered his eyes again and looked back in shock to Javier.

"The hour is now," the chair-bound man cried. His seven compatriots began running at the beast. The hulk's smirk became a grin and he picked up his pace. A distinguishable word came from his roar.

"PARQUAGH!" Virginia glanced over at Peter who looked as confused as she. Since her wedding day she too has thought about what she'd do differently. With a smile only for herself, she transformed into a gigantic monster of her own. As white as snow, as tall as a tree and larger than a small ship stood the most feared of the thunder-lizards. The Rex. Even the hulk was taken by surprise. "Dare," he muttered.

The two gigantic creatures smashed into each other in the center of the field. The grey beast was clearly not used to fighting a foe taller than him. These thunder-lizards were dying off in surprising numbers in the last few years (murmurings from travelers near Roanoke spoke of it relating to a man from the future). He'd never actually faced one of this size. But fear was something that never crossed this hulk's mind. When her massive jaws opened above his head, he caught them with both hands. He threw her with all his force to the earth. The crash of her body on the ground caused the earth to tremble. He realized she was nothing but another tree to uproot.

"Get away from her, freak!" shouted a voice as a young man in a dark suit leapt to reach his face. Peter's boots smashed into the hulk's face with as much damage as a fly's bite on a man. The creature saw Parquagh's face flinch from the sudden pain in his foot.

"You are one to talk, boy," he said before slapping Peter with full force from the air. Peter crashed hard on the grass. Peter lifted his already-bloodied face and felt relief. Virginia-Rex was standing again and the rest of Javier's students joined in the battle.

.

"Banner was a true stroke of luck," Matthew Gargan said. He stood several feet behind Schmidt and the other seven remaining Germans. "We may not even be needed to kill the Witchbreed!"

"What fun would that be?" the Red Skull asked without turning his head. Gargan was taken aback by the response. "Gargan, on my command we shall commence the battle."

"But, Captain…"

"YOU ENGLISH SHALL SPILL BLOOD TOO!" the Red Skull growled. "And it begins now!" With a cry and a wave of the arm Schmidt raised his sword and began running for the battle. Gargan looked back at his countrymen who looked as startled as he.

"Follow me, boys!" Gargan tried to scream with equal intensity as he ran after the Germans. He didn't look back to see merely less than half of his supposed command running into the field of battle. The rest watched the maddening confusion.

.

Henry McCoy grabbed the hulk by its oversized leg and tried to pull it to the earth. Instead, the creature swung its leg into a blast of ice coming from Roberto, smashing through it and landing Henry on top of Roberto. Werner flew around the back of the monster's neck and wrapped a rope around it. He tried to pull the rope into a noose, but instead felt the rope snap in his hands. He avoided a slap from the back of the hulk's hand, but the gust of wind it created caused Werner's wings to lose control of the air and go flying backwards.

Virginia Rex bit into the monster's shoulder and pulled back a piece of skin. Her teeth felt like they were going to fall out and the wound it left was less than a flesh wound, but the monster did bleed. He grabbed Virginia Rex by the throat, she roared and a flash of light surprised the hulk as she changed into a giant white eagle before he could press down. She flew into his face, so close that her celestial blue eyes touched his glowing green ones. She had her beak around one of those eyes when she felt both of the monster's hands grasp her. The bird cried from the crushing weight when Scotius's red beam blasted into the hulk's stone-like stomach. It did not seem to hurt him, but distracted him long enough for Virginia to fly away.

Peter and Henry timed their jumps as they threw their bodies with all their strength into the back of the hulk's knee. The shift of momentum toppled the beast more by surprise than pain. Once on the ground, Roberto attempted freezing it in ice. As the monster's body became buried in jagged sheets, Peter's head started throbbing again right before Schmidt wrapped his hand around his throat. _I need to start reacting to that sense_. Schmidt turned Peter around in mid-air to face him.

"It seems we get a chance to finish what we started," the Red Skull hissed at him. "And rest assured that I will not pull my punches." Schmidt's fist crashed into Peter's stomach with a force far stronger than Peter expected. The boy raised his foot to kick the skull in the jaw. To Peter's surprise, it felt like kicking a mountain. It still gave Peter the force to propel himself backwards in a flip. He was free of Schmidt's grasp.

"I'm going to kill you Parquagh." The ice began rumbling behind them…the creature was going to be free at any moment. "And then I'm going to finish your devil's concubine that still lives." Peter hurled himself at the Red Skull and again, but only found disbelief when Schmidt moved faster than he and avoided the attack. "Perhaps, I'll even have her as my concubine!" Peter stood up from the ground and glared at Schmidt. "Isn't this where you say something pithy?"

"Sure," Peter responded. With lightning quick reflexes he threw the dirt hidden in his clenched fist into the skull's face. "Here's dirt in your eye. You love the throwback?" Schmidt cried as he tried to rub it out of his face. Peter's head throbbed again and this time he dodged the threat from behind him. A small, round slob had attempted to stab him with a discolored knife. The assailant was already on the ground and passed out though. Standing over him with a heavy breathing blonde-haired native in red, white and blue animal skins.

"Who are you?" Peter sputtered.

"A Captain of America and I'm hear to bring that monster behind you to justice." Peter glanced over his shoulder and saw Schmidt struggling with dirt in his face and the grey beast escaping from his shattered icy prison.

"Take your pick," Peter said before flipping backwards to push the Red Skull to the ground and seamlessly bouncing off of him and onto the hulk's emerging head. He started smashing his fists against its head as Scotius blasted the side of the monster's neck.

.

"Why can't you stop it," Wanda cried to Javier. They stood back and watched the battle in horror.

"That beast has a mind as impenetrable as its body," sighed Carlos. He'd done his best and caused the hesitant English to go running back for their fort to report this defeat. But at the moment he felt mostly impotent as the first musket shots rang out. The Germans and some English folk battled the strange red, white and blue native, beyond the grey hulk.

"Surely, there are better reasons than that, old friend," said a voice from above them. Carlos and Wanda looked up to see Jean in a green and gold dress flying down next to them as she carried a smirking Enrique.

"Jean?" Carlos could barely say. "You brought her _HERE?"_

"And just in time," Enrique said looking at the grey monster fighting Javier's students to a standstill. "Your students are tiring and soon that _thing_ will be in Roanoke."

"I FORBID IT!" screamed an infuriated Carlos. Enrique was prepared for this reaction, smiling through his Javier-proof helmet. He turned to Jean.

"This is your moment, my dear. This is where you declare yourself to the world as we used to talk about." She looked down the field and saw the literally flying carnage.

"You want me to fight that?" she said with clear anxiety.

"If you let yourself go, it won't even be a fight."

"Enrique!" Carlos cried.

.

Pietro ran as fast as he could around the hulk. He had tried to hit it several times, but despite being clearly faster, he was not stronger. He'd nearly broken his hand. Instead, he started focusing on picking off the soldiers who'd come to kill his new home. Pulling out his favorite hunting knife, he darted in between them with such speed that they fired their own muskets into each other. Those that didn't were feeling his blade in their throats, stomachs and arms. It was almost fun, if he didn't feel tremble with every human's scream. Also fighting the naives, was a blonde-haired and blue-eyed Indian who was swinging a small axe into the backs of knees and over their heads. This strange native spoke English and kept crying the word, 'traitor,' with each strike.

Stephen took no joy in smashing the Powhatan's _tomahawk_ into men he was supposed to command. But they betrayed him and stood idly by as Schmidt and his new pet monster slaughtered Pocahontas's people. He sought to maim and demobilize his foes while sparing as many as possible. The only scalp he wanted was Schmidt's. And despite his red complexion, he was hard to spot as he moved faster than Stephen—around Stephen, taunting him.

"Roberts," he heard whispered in his ear again. He spun the axe around to find nothing but air. Between him and a quicksilver-ed Witchbreed, all of the Germans and most of the English were already on the ground. Stephen looked over to the grey hulk battling the rest of the Witchbreed and realized that the Red Skull was traveling to-and-fro into that area and trying to surprise his preoccupied enemies with his sword—especially that strange jumping boy. Stephen narrowed his eyes. _Leave the rest to the fast one._ He started running headlong towards the grey goliath.

.

Peter responded even easier to his senses as a sword swished by his ear where his head used to be. That damned German was back.

"If you haven't noticed, we're kind of busy at the moment," he said pointing to the giant monster swinging his arms at an angel and an iceman behind him.

"I said, I'd kill you Parquagh," the Red Skull said as he thrust his swords towards Peter who dodged it on simple reflex. "And I'm a man of my word."

"You are but an ass," a human Virginia Parquagh said as she smashed a discarded musket she found against the back of his red head. "A bright red one in need of a kicking." He swung his sword around him in a simple gesture towards her, but felt Peter's hands on his shoulder throwing him several yards away before his blade could find its target.

"There is but one ass to be had here, whore," Schmidt cried. A crazed look in his eyes and spit dribbling down his chin proved he's clearly gone mad.

"SHUT UP!" a voice yelled from behind the two Parquaghs. A tomahawk flew between the young ones and caught Schmidt by surprise as it landed squarely in his chest. The 'Captain of America' ran past them and crouched over the seriously wounded German.

"_Rojhaz?_" Virginia whispered to herself.

"I want you to know this Schmidt," Roberts said. "I take no pleasure in this. But you must pay for your crimes visited upon the Powhatan people." Schmidt coughed up blood, as he lifted his head to see the Cap'n pull the small axe out of his chest.

"Savages," he mumbled through his body fluids.

"No, Schmidt. You are the bloody savage," Stephen said as he raised the axe.

"You can't do it," Schmidt said with a cackle. "It's not the way of an Englishman."

"You're, right," Stephen said with a small nod. "It's the_ American _way_._" Stephen crashed the tomahawk down against Schmidt's skull and slowly—painfully—took the German's scalp. Peter tried to hold Virginia back and prevent her from seeing the awfulness. She pushed his arms away.

"I need to see this," she said. After a moment, the deed was done and Johann Schmidt was clearly, and finally, dead. Peter breathed a long sigh.

"Okay, Virginia, crazy 'Captain' guy…can we now go slay the jolly grey giant?" he said gesturing to the monster behind him.

.

Carlos continued arguing with Enrique as Jean watched in horror. This hulk thing seemed unstoppable. He grounded Werner moments ago who, after having his whole body head-butted by the beast, did not appear able to fly. It smashed through each blast of ice thrown at him by Roberto who was now using them more as shields and walls to keep the irritated creature away from him. Henry for all his cunning seemed confounded and relied on trying to hit pressure points that merely annoyed it. The two new people living in the house were joined by a savage who struck at the creature's legs like ants. She's stunned any of them were still alive.

She wanted to help, but was afraid. There was something inside of her that Carlos couldn't see. Something that was not of her own making and that could destroy her. If she embraced it, it would consume her. She knew this. Master Enrique must know this, but still he urged her to let go.

Suddenly, she was snapped back to reality when the hulk's hand smacked the Scotius boy who was trying to blast his palm. Scotius collapsed on the ground. _No._ The hulk raised its arm to crush the Scotsman who loves her. _No._ Werner crawled under the shadow of the monster's hand to pull Scotius away. _NO. _They were both going to die.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" she screamed loud enough to get everyone's attention. In the cold blue of the barely-dawning sun, she illuminated the sky in brilliant reds, yellows and golds. Like a fire, she streaked across the sky and towards the monster.

"Dear God," Carlos muttered to himself.

"Like a phoenix, she is finally risen," Enrique said to Javier as he stared in equal wonder.

Jean grabbed the hulk with both fiery hands and threw him a hundred yards into the air. He landed on the injured and moaning Englishmen in the grass nearer to the woods. The hulk growled as he stumbled to his feet.

"Enrique, what have you created?" bemoaned Carlos.

"A god among men," he answered without averting his eyes. "She will be this New World's shield from the Old one!"

"Smash," a disoriented hulk said. "Must smash fire."

"No!" she cried. "No more smashing! NO MORE!" She touched the hulk with the tip of her index finger and his body erupted into flames. Within seconds there was no body. The hulk evaporated into ash in the wind. "NO MORE!" she cried again. With the simple gesture of lifting her arms all the English and German bodies beneath her went up in fire and smoke. Whether dead or alive, they vanished.

"STOOOP!" Wanda screamed from the other side of the clearing. Even from there, in the brightly lit fire of Jean's body, she saw Pietro also explode into flames as he stood by the dead and dying foreigners. "PIETRO!"

"NO MORE!" cried Jean. She turned to find something else to destroy. She raised her hand and pointed it to the exhausted heroes and Witchbreed before her. She was about to fire when she saw Scotius lying unconscious on the ground by an equally tired Werner. "No more." She looked down the field to Carlos and Enrique, her eyes glowing fire.

"You were right, Master Enrique. I. Am. Phoenix." She looked up to the sky as the sun met her own light. She flew off towards it.

"P…Pietro," left Enrique's lips. He looked towards Wanda. She had tears in her eyes. There was despair and grief. But it was superseded by anger and pure hatred. Her stare made Enrique want to take his own life in that moment.

"Enrique…" Carlos said while doing his best to contain his seething anger. "Leave." There were no more words to say. Enrique would have acquiesced, but all he could do for now was to collapse on his knees.

At the main field of battle, the Witchbreed tended to their wounded as the smell of death engulfed them from the rising smoke and swirling fog. Stephen Roberts was already gone. Werner wept over an unconscious Scotius, knowing what the loss of Jean would mean. Peter was just tired. Virginia leaned on him as they quietly stood in the center of this manmade hurricane. He looked up and saw the sun rising over Roanoke in the distance. 'The dawn of America?' he thought to himself. He hoped it was all worth it.


	18. Epilogue

_**MARCH 1606**_

The waves splashed brilliantly in the golden light. The warm air signaled spring had come. Idle children enjoying their morning ran into the water to beat back the waves again and again. They did this in part for pure amusement. But really, they were just passing time as the ship they longed for made port. The _Fantastik_ had returned to Roanoke.

As it made safe harbor, the four adventurers and explorers known as the "Fantastik Four" were the last off the ship. The many seamen and sailors around the docks cheered for them as they set foot again on American soil. However, none were more excited than James and little Phillip who came running down the long boards to embrace them. When they saw Captain Benjamin Grimm standing by his vessel in a ridiculously large and feathered hat, they broke into a sprint. Phillip was the first to leap into the air towards the laughing orange rocks's arms, but to his surprise was caught in mid-air.

"Not fair," he muttered. Lady Susan Reed, wife of Lord Richard Reed, appeared reclaimed her visibility in a brilliant ocean blue dress, obviously designed for the highest fashion of London.

"Why thank you for the lovely greeting, Sir Phillip," she teased. Phillip watched on as James reached Captain Grimm and then immediately stepped back unsure of what to do.

"Let me see him," Phillip muttered.

"We haven't been to your community in two years and that is all you can say?" she asked in mock pain. Phillip took her playfulness as sincerity and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

"Thank you," she said before turning the child over to Benjamin. The child's face lit up as he immediately began bruising his hands by ramming them against the captain's rocky head.

"Children," Benjamin said to a bemused John Storm. Richard paid the dockworkers the fee they owed and began walking down the planks towards the shore. At the edge waiting for them was Carlos Javier, in his movable chair.

"Welcome to America, Lord Reed," Carlos said.

"It's been too long, Professor Javier," Richard responded. After a moment, they both laughed and shook hands as only old friends could.

.

Peter Parquagh had almost finished loading this 'wagon' contraption when Henry McCoy appeared. Henry came to see the Parquaghs one last time before they left the house Peter had built.

"Good morrow, Master Parquagh," Henry said heartily.

"And a good morrow to you too, good sir," Peter said in a gentle mock of Henry's formalness.

"I see all your preparations have been made for the journey ahead."

"Aye," Peter said looking back at the house. He was caught in a moment of nostalgia. This was the house he built for he and his Aunt Miriam to live and where _his _wife and he had lived for well over a year. The past months had been a mixture of blessings and misfortunes alike. The winter before last brought the illness and passing of many of Roanoke's elderly and earliest colonists. Among those lost was Miriam Parquagh. But this last Christmas season brought the miracle of Peter and Virginia's first son.

"Are thou sound?" asked a concerned Henry. Peter snapped back to the present.

"Aye, Henry," he said with a laugh. "Just a lot of memories on this island." He wiped the sweat from his brow.

"'Tis true. Some that we wish to forget and some that will bind us here for eternity. The kind that we cannot leave." Peter patted his muscular friend on the back.

"We're not running from anything," Peter smiled. "Was it not your professor who said that as America grows that we must look beyond these narrow shores? There is a continent beyond this town and beyond the Croatans. If we are to be a country, let us be a great one."

Henry nodded his head in agreement. There were many reasons that they may want to leave Roanoke, even as it is rapidly growing into a city. They both had lost much here and while no one would dare challenge their marriage—they have curiously never wanted another wedding ceremony—gossip obviously followed behind them. But Henry knew better than to say they were escaping from that. Rather, they were escaping into a new strange world that is impossible to deny. After all, Henry can recognize his kindred spirits.

Virginia appeared in the doorway holding little Ananias Parquagh in her arms.

"Lady Parquagh and Master Parquagh," Henry said with a bow.

"Henry," she said with a smirk.

"Virginia and little Ananias," he beamed before coming in for a hug. She looked over at Peter by the wagon and horse. Soon, she would be in the beautiful world with Peter and her child. Soon, she would be home.

.

"Such a happy scene," Richard Reed said to Javier as they strolled by the herculean McCoy embracing the young mother and child. "It seems Witchbreed and humans have actually found peace in your experiment, Carlos."

"It's…not always that simple. That family, the Parquaghs, is a special breed of their own. They're joining other families that come off the boat everyday to help build this country. I look at them and I see the faces of our future." Reed chuckled at his friend.

"In several years, you've turned a struggling colony into a nation without crowns or persecution. That is what's truly fantastic."

"We have a long way to go before we have a true government that can unite us, much less an idea of the size of the country we're building." Javier sighed. "But still, now that the British no longer view us as a colony in rebellion, the increase in trade with Europe is almost maddening and new Americans drift in with every tide."

"Who would dare challenge a country, no matter how small, that has its own god protecting it." Carlos cringed at the thought of Jean Grey.

"Well I trust you can keep to yourself that we haven't seen Jean since she obliterated King James's hired army." Richard looked over at his rolling friend in surprise.

"That is interesting. The way you're held in the king's court is as a cursed and damned land that any and all should avoid or they'll burn. The few men who did return from James's town alive last year spoke of a horrible fire bird chasing their ship." Carlos felt his stomach turn. _Damn you, Enrique. Wherever you are._ "It was such a failed venture, it's been called the 'Lost Colony,' and Sir Nathaniel Osborn has disappeared into hiding before James's men could show him his own room in The Tower."

"Alas, Mistress Grey is lost to us and I fear what she may do if she ever returns. Yet, I fear what she could do if she doesn't. The new Rojhaz says he saw she burned the English fort to the north, but that's the last we've heard of her."

"The new Rohjaz?" Richard asked in even more disbelief.

"Ah yes," Carlos said as he stopped his wheels. He looked up to the English lord with a small smile. "Your theory of creating two separate universes on that day in 1602 may have proven correct as an Englishman who looks exactly like the man we sent to the future has come to live with the natives of this continent. He was the one to slay James's German commander and take his burned scalp back to a tribe to the north. He returned with much to say."

"Where is he now?" asked a very intrigued Reed. "I would love to converse with him."

"He learned of his similarities to another and took on the moniker of Rojhaz and lives with the Croatans. He also calls himself 'Captain of America' and says he will defend this land."

"Does he mean your country or the natives?"

"Honestly, at the moment I have no idea." They continued to rest in that shaded spot for a moment. In the shadow of a large tree on a hill near Main Street, they simply enjoyed each other's company. Reed turned to survey the ever expanding Roanoke and a country he helped envision so many years ago.

After a long introspection, he finally opened his mouth. "It's wonderful, Carlos." Carlos simply maintained his smile.

"It's a start."

FINIS

AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you've read this far and finished the story, I would like to sincerely thank you for taking the time and I hope you enjoyed the story. Also, please leave a review-criticism is welcome-as I put quite a bit of time into it. But I won't deny I had a lot of fun combining Gaiman's ideas, Stan Lee/Jack Kirby/Steve Ditko's world and some interesting colonial history into this crazy little fic. I apologize if any Hulk fans are offended, but hey I'm just keeping it in line with how Gaiman wrote Banner. Take it up with him. ;)

Lastly, if you noticed, I left a lot of plot threads dangling and wide open. This is in part because the Marvel Universe (no matter where) should never feel tightly complete or boxed in. It should always be never-ending. However, as much fun as I had writing this, I doubt I will continue exploring this world. So, if anyone wants to continue this story or expand on the characters or go in any direction at all with it, I am completely fine with that. Just send me a PM if you do, so I can know to read your own fics.

To paraphrase a great man, thanks for reading true-believers. 'Nuff said.


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